


If Nothing Saves Us

by the_little_flower



Series: If Nothing Saves Us [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Anxiety, Dom Derek, Dom Drop, Dom/sub, I will add more tags as I go, M/M, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Sub Stiles, Subdrop, eventually, there's gonna be smut for sure
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-17
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-25 17:49:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 48,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2630819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_little_flower/pseuds/the_little_flower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“If nothing saves us from death, at least love should save us from life.” - Pablo Neruda</p><p>Stiles is alone, trying to scrape by while fighting through the scars a long and unhealthy relationship left him with.  Some days it doesn't go well.</p><p>Derek is just trying to be a good person and help out someone who needs a hand.  He isn't intending to fall for Stiles.  But then again, his plans never tend to work out anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Derek wasn’t paying much attention to the low chatter of people around him as he unloaded his groceries from his cart to the little conveyer belt at the check-out.  His thoughts were far away, meandering through what he needed to get done that evening and whether or not Scott would need him for pack business this weekend.  When the air around him started to turn acrid with the scent of anxiety, Derek looked up at the customer in line in front of him.

 He was a boy, probably twenty-two or so, not more than an inch or two shorter than Derek, but quite a bit thinner.  His brown hair was standing up in haphazard spikes, like he’d been running his hands through it a lot.  Though he didn’t have a collar and his sleeves were long enough to cover a cuff, it was obvious that he was a submissive.  His whole posture was deferential to the young dom who was working the check-out.  The boy seemed unwilling to quite meet her gaze, and he kept ducking his head when she spoke.  Even without a werewolf’s sense of smell, anyone would be able to tell that the boy was nervous nearly to the point of panic.  His eyes darted around and his shoulders looked so tense they nearly made Derek wince in sympathy.

 He was shaking his head and gesturing emphatically to the loaf of bread and jar of peanut butter he was trying to pay for.  “No, ma’am, I checked, again and again, before I came.  The ad said it would be on sale today.”

 Derek bit back a sigh.  Of course he’d ended up in the lane with the guy who was going to argue with the cashier over a couple of dollars.  The cashier looked to be somewhat at a loss.  “I’m sorry,” she said, not unkindkly.  “It’s ringing up as $3.79.”

 “But it’s wrong, ma’am,” the boy insisted.  Derek noticed now that his hands were quickly folding and unfolding a crumpled five dollar bill.  The werewolf frowned.  Maybe the kid hadn’t brought more than that?

 “I’m sorry,” the cashier said again, shaking her head.  “I don’t know why the ad was wrong.  But your total for that and the bread is $6.04.”

 Derek heard the boy’s breathing speed up.  “I- I just have this,” he said in a small voice, looking down and the five in his hands.

 The cashier sighed.  “Can you put it on a credit card then?”

 The boy shook his head.  Derek smelled salt, suddenly, and he knew that meant tears were springing to his eyes.  Over a dollar?  What was going on with this kid?  “I don’t have one,” he said, his voice now nearly a whisper.

 Before he’d even really contemplated it, Derek had pulled out his wallet and found a ten dollar bill.  He leaned forward and handed it to the cashier.   “Here,” he said firmly.  “I’ve got it.”

 The boy’s eyes snapped up to him, shock written all over his face, before he dropped them quickly back down.  “No, sir, I can’t- you shouldn’t-”  

 If anything, the scent of anxiety had gotten worse, treading close to fear.  It made Derek’s stomach clench to see a sub so clearly upset, to the point of being afraid.  He could feel his dominant instincts urging him to protect the boy, take care of him.  “It’s okay,” Derek insisted.  “No big deal.”  

 The sub shook his head.  “No, but…” He trailed off, seeming to not be able to come up with an argument.  It took more willpower than Derek felt like it should have not to set his hand securely on the back of the boy’s neck and reassure him.  He wanted to offer the sub some kind of physical comfort, but he knew that right now, as a stranger, if he did it without warning or consent he was just as likely to freak the boy out even more.

 The cashier had already gotten Derek his change and handed it to him before starting to ring up the werewolf’s groceries.  The sub’s two items were in a plastic sack waiting for him.  Derek nodded to it, trying to look encouraging.  The boy hesitated for a few seconds, then carefully picked up his bag.  “Thank you, sir,” he said, his tone cautious, like he thought Derek was going to snatch the bag away.  Then he turned and walked toward the exit.  

 Derek watched him go, still confused by what had just happened.  As the boy disappeared through the door, Derek realized that maybe he shouldn’t have let the sub just walk off.  He was obviously far too emotional to drive himself home safely right now.  Derek sighed and shook his head, turning back to the cashier to pay for his own groceries.  Surely the boy would call his dom to come pick him up.  

 Derek gathered up his purchases and headed out to his Camaro, trying to get his mind back on the rest of the errands he had to run, when he spotted the sub sitting on a curb, his plastic sack on the ground next to him.  He was leaning his elbows on his knees and holding his head in his hands, and Derek was pretty sure that he was shaking slightly.  Derek’s eyebrows knit together.  He dumped his bags in the trunk of the Camaro and walked over to the boy.  He crouched down in front of the sub, moving slowly so he wouldn’t startle him.  “Hey, are you okay?” Derek asked softly.

 It took the boy a second to make any sign that he’d noticed the dom’s presence.  When he did lift his head to look at Derek, his eyes were glassy and unfocused.  “Sorry,” he mumbled, dropping his head back into his hands.  “Just need to- to sit…”

 Derek’s eyes widened.  Shit.  This kid was dropping hard.  And fast.  Derek guessed that whatever had him feeling so anxious about the little problem in the store was causing a stress-induced drop.  He couldn’t be left alone right now.  “It’s okay,” Derek said, trying to sound soothing.  “What’s your name?”

 The boy’s eyes slid up to Derek briefly before dropping down again.  “Stiles, sir..” he murmured.

 Odd name, but Derek wasn’t about to ask.  Not the best time.  “Okay, Stiles,” he said calmly.  “My name’s Derek.  I’m gonna call your dom for you.  Can you tell me their phone number.”

 After a second, the sub shook his head.  “Don’t have one,” he managed, though his words were quiet.  

 Derek’s brow furrowed.  What did he mean, he didn’t have one?  Even if he wasn’t in a romantic relationship with a dom, every sub over the age of sixteen had a registered dom, usually a family member or close friend.  It was a legal requirement, done to protect subs from just this sort of thing.  “Who’s your legal dom?” he prodded gently.

 Stiles tried to shake his head again.  “Don’t have one,” he repeated.  

 Derek stared at the sub.  Now what?  There was apparently no one to call, and he was unlikely to get anything more out of Stiles right now, given where his head was at.  But he couldn’t just leave the boy alone either.  He placed one hand lightly on the sub’s knee.  “Is there anyone I can call?  A friend you can stay with.”

 Stiles just shook his head again and mumbled, “Wanna go home.”

 Derek sighed.  He couldn’t just take the Stiles home and leave him there.  Not in this state.  It was dangerous for a sub to be alone during a bad drop.  Best case scenario, without the comfort and emotional stability they needed, they’d sink into a lethargic depression, unable to get their emotions grounded again, and be generally miserable for a few days.  Worst case, they’d have trouble making safe, sane choices with their equilibrium shaken, and they’d wind up seriously hurting themselves.

 Moving so that he was sitting on the curb next to the sub, Derek laid his hand lightly on the back of Stiles’ neck.  He hadn’t seemed uncomfortable with Derek touching his knee, and he needed the physical contact to ground him right now.  “I’m not going to leave you alone right now,” Derek said calmly.  “Let me help you through the drop, and then I’ll take you home.  Okay?”  The boy didn’t respond, and Derek tightened his hand slightly, trying to bring him back to the present long enough to respond.  “Is that okay?  If I take care of you right now?”

 Stiles still didn’t say anything, but he nodded shakily, and Derek decided that was enough for now.  He pulled the boy into him, wrapping one arm securely around his waist and cupping the back of his head with the other.  He guided the sub into his chest so that he could bury his face there.  “You’re okay,” he whispered.  “You’re alright.  Just let me take care of you.  It’s going to be alright, Stiles.  Just relax.”  He felt the boy slowly melt against him as he spoke, and Derek let out a breath of relief.  Most subs responded well to physical comfort like this when they were dropping.  Derek had gotten friends through drops before, so he knew what he was doing.  He held Stiles against him, firm enough for the boy to feel secure but not tight enough to hurt or constrict.  If he could make the sub feel safe and cared for while he drifted through the drop, Stiles would be able to come out of it feeling stable again.  Derek shifted the boy a little so that he could pick him up, thankful for the thousandth time that he was a werewolf, this time because it meant that he could carry the full grown sub to his Camaro easily.  He would take Stiles back to his house, he decided, and let him rest there.  It was better than just holding him in the parking lot indefinitely.  

 He stroked the boy’s hair as he got him situated.  He was actually rather beautiful, Derek noticed now, with little moles dotted over his face like he’d been splattered with brown paint.  “You’re okay, Stiles,” he soothed again.  “I’ve got you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, I hope you liked chapter one! Coming attractions include Sterek fluff, Stiles angst, probably some Derek angst because I can't help myself, pack fluff, Sterek smut... for starters. :D


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we're doing Stiles' point of view! I'm going to (most likely) switch back and forth between Derek and Stiles POVs every chapter, because I want to be able to show both of their thoughts. 
> 
> I hope Stiles doesn't seem OOC, I'm trying to make him as Stiles-y as possible, but many of the things he does/says that may seem OOC are done on purpose. You'll get more of his backstory in this 'verse soon, and then hopefully all will make sense. :D

Stiles only vaguely remembered being carried to Derek’s car, and then up several flights of stairs to his loft apartment.  Everything had been foggy and slow.  He remembered pretty distinctly the feeling of Derek’s arms around him, though.  The dom was surprisingly gentle for being so, well, giant and muscle-y.  Even through the daze of the drop, Stiles had been sure that he wanted to stay right there, in the dom’s arms, because _oh that felt better._  

He didn’t know how much time had passed when he finally surfaced, but he could see orange afternoon light slanting into the room, so he knew that it had to be several hours at least.  He blinked slowly and started to take stock of where he was.  He was lying on his side on a couch with his head pillowed on Derek’s lap.  He could feel Derek’s warm hand settled on his waist.  Stiles could see a TV, but it wasn’t on.  He shifted a little to look around.  They were in a large room, and Stiles could see an entire wall of windows to his right.

Stiles’ tiny movements must have alerted the dom to his return to consciousness, because Derek’s hand tightened a little on his abdomen, Stiles heard a book close, and a second later the dom’s other hand began to stroke softly over Stiles’ hair.  “Back with me?” Derek asked quietly.

Stiles nodded a little jerkily.  He knew he should sit up, probably stand, and at least try to address the dom properly, but his entire body felt exhausted, and Derek’s hand in his hair made it hard to feel like anything other than letting the dom keep doing that could be very important.  

“How are you feeling?” Derek asked.  

 _Come on, Stiles_ , the sub told himself firmly.   _You’re in his house, on his couch, the least you could do is try to be a little respectful._  Stiles managed to convince his body to cooperate and sat up, pulling away from Derek’s hands.  “Better,” he replied honestly.  “A lot better.”  Stiles’ eyes flicked up to look at Derek for just a second before dropping them back down to look at his hands, now folded in his lap.  “Thank you, sir.”

Derek smiled softly.  “It’s nothing,” he said with a shrug.  “I wasn’t about to let you drop by yourself in a parking lot.”  He sounded somewhat amused, and Stiles ducked his head, embarrassed.

“I’m sorry, sir.  I thought I could get home before.. before it hit, but I was too shaky to walk…”

Derek was frowning, now.  “It happens,” he said firmly.  “You can’t anticipate a drop.  It’s not your fault.”

Stiles didn’t say anything, because he didn’t want to disagree with the dom, but he was still embarrassed at having dropped so badly in public.  If he’d been able to get home, it would have been fine.  It would have sucked, it always sucked, but he’d have been fine.  He’d just stay home for a while, not leave the house for a few days, eventually he’d get a hold of himself.  He always did.

Derek was watching him, and Stiles tried not to squirm under his gaze.  After a moment, the dom spoke again.  “You weren’t going to call anyone?” he asked, and Stiles could hear him trying to keep his voice gentle, like he thought the sub was going to break, and it frustrated Stiles.  He wasn’t made of glass, damn it.  He had been taking care of himself just fine for months now.  Maybe it wasn’t perfect, but it was fine.  He was fine.

Stiles clenched his jaw and resolutely didn’t lift his eyes from his lap.  “I don’t have a phone,” he said in an even voice.

He could see Derek’s frown deepen out of the corner of his eye.  “You said… that you don’t have a dom,” he said slowly.

Stiles held himself completely still.  He knew that a lot of people would probably have a problem with that.  “Yes, sir,” he acknowledged.

“And you were just going to go home and drop alone?  Do you know how dangerous that can be?”

Stiles fought not to scowl.  Why did this guy care if he dropped alone?  It wasn’t going to hurt anyone but Stiles, and it wasn’t anything he hadn’t dealt with before.  “I’ve always been able to handle it,” he said.  It wasn’t quite true, but it was close.  Really, it just depended on your definition of ‘handle,’ so Stiles figured it was good enough.

Derek’s eyes widened somewhat, and Stiles couldn’t stop himself from looking up at the dom.  He seemed surprised.  Derek opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again, staring at Stiles.  Finally he seemed to come up with something to say.  “Stiles…” he said carefully.  “I heard your heartbeat speed up when you said that.  I know you were lying.”

Stiles stiffened, eyes locked on Derek.  “You’re a werewolf?”

Derek just nodded, like that was the most obvious thing in the world.  His expression remained concerned, though, and Stiles finally processed the rest of what Derek had said.  He’d just been caught lying to a dom.  To a werewolf dom, with claws and creepy glowing eyes that would come out if he was angry, like he surely would be if he had to deal with a sub who thought he could lie to his face.  Stiles drew in a quick, panicked breath and ducked his head instantly.  “I’m sorry, sir!  I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to- I meant that I- I thought I would be okay.  I’m sorry, sir-”

“Stiles,” Derek’s voice interrupted, firm and worried but not angry.  The dom laid a hand softly on Stiles’ arm, and Stiles looked up at him, confused.  He wasn’t pissed?  Weren’t werewolves supposed to be volatile, violent, other associated v-words?  “It’s okay,” Derek continued.  “I’m not upset, I just want you to be safe.”  

Stiles wasn’t sure how to respond to that.  He didn’t know what to do with the idea of a dom he didn’t know being so concerned about him.  “Um, I’m- I’m fine, sir.  Totally safe.”

Derek didn’t look convinced.  “When you say you don’t have a dom, what do you mean?  Weren’t you registered with one at sixteen?”

Stiles nodded, because yeah, he had been, just like every other sub.  His foster mom had registered him under her.  But he hadn’t talked to her in five years, and as far as he knew she was still living in San Jose.  He’d registered under his boyfriend, Mark, the moment he’d turned eighteen, and Mark had moved them south to San Diego.  

Derek still looked confused, so Stiles spoke up.  “There, um, there was an accident, sir… Um, nine.. nine months ago, now.  My boyfriend, my dom, I mean, he…”  Stiles trailed off.  He didn’t know why this was hard to talk about.  It didn’t hurt as much to think about it, anymore.  Still, Stiles realized as he spoke that this was probably the first time he’d actually come out and explained it to anyone since moving back to Beacon Hills.

Derek’s face softened into understanding tinged with sadness.  He nodded and squeezed Stiles’ arm gently.  “And you weren’t registered with anyone after that?  A family member, a friend?”

Stiles just shook his head.  What friends?  He’d barely known anyone the entire time he’d been in San Diego.  And he hadn’t been in Beacon Hills since he was a kid, so he didn’t really know anyone here.  And as for family…  He looked away, not wanting to talk about that.  It had been a decade since losing mom, and more than six years since dad was killed, and it still made his heart constrict painfully when he thought about them.  They’d be so disappointed, now.  He was living alone, barely scraping by… well, not really scraping by at all, lately.  This wasn’t what they’d wanted for him.

Derek seemed to sense his distress, because suddenly the werewolf was shifting closer to him and wrapping his arms around Stiles’ thin frame.  “It’s okay,” Derek murmured.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. You don’t have to talk about it.”

Stiles knew that it was technically illegal for him to be without a registered dom, and he knew why.  There was a reason that being on his own all the time sucked so much.  His stupid freaking submissive biology would flip out sometimes, like today, and dealing with it alone was pretty awful.  Still, he had been far too nervous to go to the Pan-Dynamic Services Office and let them pair him with some dom he didn’t know.  It was too much of a risk, and the thought of it was terrifying.  It felt like foster care all over again, even though he knew he’d probably still be able to live by himself and be largely independent.  Since no one had ever bothered him about it, though, Stiles had been content to slip past the radar.  

Stiles nodded a little, not sure what to say to Derek’s words, because he still wasn’t sure why the dom was being so nice to him.  After a moment, Derek spoke again.  “You can stay here for a while, if you don’t have anywhere else to go,” the dom offered.

Stiles shook his head quickly.  “No, sir, I don’t want to impose on you, you’ve done way more than you should for me already.”  Despite his words, Stiles couldn’t bring himself to pull away from the warm circle of Derek’s arms around him.  It felt so freaking good, and he knew that compared to this, as soon as he moved away from the dom he’d feel cold and unsteady.  Although now that he thought about it, maybe the unsteadiness was from the aftereffects of the drop.  

Derek made no move to let go of Stiles either.  “You’re still off balance, I can tell.  I can smell it.  If I take you home and leave you alone, you might just drop again.”

Stiles had a hard time coming up with an argument against that, because the dom was right.  Stiles was feeling mostly okay right now, though maybe a little emotionally shaky, but he knew most of that was just from the from the fact that he’d spent the last few hours cuddled up with a dom who had seemed intent on taking care of him.  Stiles felt safe right now, even though he knew that it was probably ridiculous.  He didn’t know Derek.  He shouldn’t feel safe with him, not yet at least.  But regardless of how irrational it might be, Derek was keeping Stiles’ emotions manageable right now, and if Stiles left, it probably wouldn’t be a fun night for him.  

The sub shook his head again, though his protest was half-hearted.  “You don’t have to…”

“I do,” Derek said firmly.  “I’m not the kind of person who would knowingly let a sub deal with a drop on their own.”

Stiles frowned at that a little, because that was kind of an odd statement, wasn’t it?  He’d dealt with drops on his own for a long time, long before Mark’s accident… It sucked, sure, but so did getting sick or any number of other things.  You just rode it out.  

On the other hand, Stiles was in a position where he could tuck his face into the crook of Derek’s neck again, and Derek smelled awesome, and Stiles felt so warm and protected, in a way he hadn’t felt in a long, long time, and he really just wanted to go to sleep.  And sure, maybe it was his submissive hormones, still out of whack from the drop, that were making him crave the cuddling that Derek was offering, but Stiles was having a harder and harder time convincing himself that was a bad thing.  

Derek’s voice rumbled softly again, and Stiles could feel it in the werewolf’s chest.  “Just sleep here tonight, and tomorrow we’ll figure something out,” he said, sounding decided.  All Stiles could think was that it was just for one night, surely he’d be okay with Derek for one night, and if Derek kept rubbing his hand over Stiles’ back like that, it would be the best night’s sleep he’s had in a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates are unlikely to always be this quick. But I'm going to write as fast as I can!
> 
> You've come this far, you may as well comment. :)


	3. Chapter 3

Derek kept his arms wrapped around the sub as his breathing slowly evened out.  He didn’t want to move until he was sure that Stiles was deeply asleep.  The boy’s exhaustion had been obvious, and Derek was determined to make sure he got plenty of sleep.  The sun slowly sank below the horizon behind, blanketing the loft in darkness, until even his werewolf eyes couldn’t make out the words of the book he’d been reading.  Still, Derek had no inclination whatsoever to go turn on a light.  He was content to let Stiles sleep curled up against him.

Derek wasn’t surprised that holding the sub was igniting a warm feeling in his chest.  Taking care of Stiles during his drop that afternoon had triggered just about all of his natural dom instincts.  Maybe it was because he was a werewolf, and he could smell the emotional turmoil of a sub instead of just seeing it on their face, but he’d always felt more affected by a sub in drop than other doms seemed to be.  It wasn’t that other people weren’t sympathetic to a struggling sub or didn’t give them the care they needed, but Derek had noticed before that whenever a sub in his care, or even just nearby, dropped, he got a painful pit in his stomach that wouldn’t go away.  The same had been true with Stiles.  Once he had gotten Stiles to the loft, though, and laid the boy comfortably on the couch where Derek could keep his arm on the sub protectively, Derek had started to feel better.  He could smell Stiles’ scent gradually turn from tension and distress to something almost approximating contentment, and Derek had felt himself relaxing along with him.  Now that Stiles was fast asleep, curled into Derek’s chest, the dom couldn’t stifle the urges to protect him and care for him and make him happy.  

The knowledge that Stiles was alone wasn’t helping matters.  He’d said that it had been nine months since his dom died, and Derek could only assume that since then he’d been living alone, since he hadn’t mentioned any friends or family when Derek asked.  He’d seemed pretty cavalier about the idea of dealing with a drop alone, as long as he could get home, which only made Derek worry more.  Now that his dominant instincts were kicking in, the last thing Derek wanted to do was take him home in the morning and leave him there.

Derek was pulled out of his thoughts when his phone buzzed against his leg.  He carefully shifted Stiles so that the sub was laying on the couch, and then he pulled a blanket over the boy before walking to to the other side of the loft and pulling his phone out of his pocket.  It was Scott.  Derek answered it, speaking softly.  “Hey, Scott.”

“Derek, hi!” Scott greeted cheerfully.  “Do you have a minute?”

“Sure,” Derek replied, because Stiles didn’t seem to be stirring at all, so Derek was content to talk to his Alpha while Stiles slept.

“Great.  I need you to do a favor for me.  I just got a call, apparently today’s the third night in a row that the farms on the north side of town that butt up against the preserve have lost livestock.  Apparently right after sunset, something’s been sneaking in, and, well, it sounded kinda messy.”

“Are they sure it’s supernatural?” Derek asked, frowning.

“Sounded supernatural to me,” Scott said.  “Claw marks several inches deep, an inch or so apart.  Too big to be an animal.”

Derek nodded, thinking.  “Could be a chupacabra,” he suggested.

“Yeah, I thought that too.” Scott agreed.  “Beacon Hills is a little far north for them, but it could happen.  Anyway, I promised the guy that called me that I would check it out tonight so he can get rid of the goats it killed, but I don’t think I can get out there.  I have to run up to Redding to meet with Satomi and a couple of other Alphas.”

Derek bit back a sigh.  Scott had mentioned that meeting a couple of times before.  That kind of thing was important for maintaining good relationships with nearby packs.  But Derek wasn’t about to leave Stiles alone.  “Can Isaac do it?” he asked.

“Isaac’s coming to Redding with me, actually,” Scott said, though Derek heard Isaac’s muffled “And dead goats creep me out!” in the background.  

Derek grinned despite himself.  “Right,” he said, amused.  “Is that because he’ll get to spend two hours in the car with his dom, or because he wants to get out of tracking a chupacabra?”  He said it mostly for Isaac’s benefit, since he knew that the werewolf would be able to hear him as long as he was in the same room as Scott.

“Can I pick both?  Is that an option?” Isaac replied, and Scott laughed.

“Can you, Derek?” Scott asked, still sounding amused.  “You’ve got the best nose, you’ll be more likely to pick up any scent the creature left behind.”

Derek glanced at Stiles, still asleep on the couch.  He didn’t like saying no to his Alpha, both because his werewolf instincts were uncomfortable with it and because Scott was such a genuinely good, easy going leader.  Still, Derek wasn’t going to leave Stiles right now unless he had to.  “Actually, Scott,” he said slowly, “I can’t.”

Derek could practically hear Scott frown.  “Oh, uh, okay.  Why not, dude?”

Derek sighed.  There probably wasn’t a way to say this without it sounding weird.  “There’s a sub asleep on my couch.”

“What?” came Scott’s voice, mingled with Isaac’s “Who?!”

“A guy I met at the grocery store this afternoon,” Derek said flatly.

He heard Isaac bark out a laugh.  “Dang, Derek, you move fast,” he joked.

Derek thought about protesting that he was a perfect gentleman to Stiles, but Scott got there before he did.  “Isaac!” Scott scolded, and Derek heard a small thump that could only be a light, playful swat to the sub’s bottom.

“Hey, he’s the one with a sub he just met sleeping on his couch!” Isaac insisted.

“He was dropping, and he didn’t have anywhere to go,” Derek explained.  “I wasn’t just going to let him sit in the grocery store parking lot.”

“Oh.  Wow,” Scott said, sounding taken aback.  Even Isaac stopped chuckling.  “Was his dom out of town, or…?”

“Not that I know of,” Derek said.  “He told me he doesn’t have a dom.  I still don’t know all the details, but… I think he’s in bad shape, Scott.  Not just from his drop, although that seemed pretty rough itself.  I tried to ask if I could call anyone for him, friends or family or anyone, but I’m not sure he has any.  If he had family, at least, they’d have gotten him registered with a dom.”

“He doesn’t even have a legal dom?” Scott asked, surprised.  

“No,” Derek said, rubbing the bridge of his nose in an absent, nervous gesture.

“Wow,” Scott repeated.  “Uh, yeah, it sounds like you shouldn’t leave, for sure.  I’ll call Liam.  Don’t worry about it.”

Derek let out a breath.  “Thanks.”

“What are you going to do?” Scott asked.  

Derek shook his head, blinking a few times.  “I.. don’t really know.  I told him that we’d figure something out in the morning, when he’s more recovered from his drop.  And if nothing else, I said I’d take him down to the Pan-Dynamic Services Office so he can get a court ordered dom.”  Derek didn’t particularly want to do that, but it would be better than nothing.

“Ugh,” Scott said, clearly unenthused.  “I mean, it’s got to be better than not having anyone and dropping in grocery store parking lots with no one to call to come pick you up, but... Man, ‘court ordered dom’ just sounds so.. I don’t know.  Gross.”

“Impersonal,” Isaac supplied in the background.  “Like they’d only help because it’s their job.”

“Yeah,” Scott agreed.  “I’m sure they’re good people and all, but I feel like it would just suck.  Subs need to know their dom cares about them.”

“I know,” Derek said dejectedly.  “But I don’t know what to do.  I don’t think this guy has an over-abundance of options.”

“Yeah, I guess not,” Scott sighed.  “Well, tell me if either of us can help at all, okay?  I definitely feel for the guy.”

Derek nodded.  “Of course.  Sorry I couldn’t take care of the chupacabra thing for you.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it.  Liam’ll handle it.  You’ve got your hands full,” Scott said, his tone returning to the normal warmth it always had when he was talking to his betas.  “Talk to you tomorrow, dude.”

Derek said goodbye and hung up.  He stayed where he was for a moment, looking over to where Stiles was still sleeping soundly on the couch.  He wanted to pull the boy into his arms again, but he didn’t want to risk waking him up.  Actually, he wanted more than that.  He wanted to carry Stiles to his bed so that he wouldn’t have to let Stiles leave his side all night, so that he could sleep while still feeling the sub up against him so that he knew Stiles was still alright.  But he knew he couldn’t.  Stiles had barely agreed to even stay the night in Derek’s house, and Derek was well aware that Stiles’ inclination toward letting Derek hold him was probably mostly to do with his drop-addled hormones pushing him to need physical contact.  Derek wasn’t about to push Stiles for more than the sub wanted to do.  That wasn’t a good way to get Stiles to trust him past tomorrow morning.

Derek blinked as that thought crossed his mind.   _I guess I’m not just leaving him at the PDSO, then,_ he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for Scott and Isaac! I pretty much adore Scisaac, so rest assured that they will show up quite a bit. :D
> 
> Also, I'm sure you're going "Why doesn't Stiles know Scott and vice versa?" but fear not! All will be explained. I have a plan. 
> 
> Comments? Pretty please? Especially if there's anything you want to see as this story goes forward. I am very much open to suggestions. I have a plan, but there's plenty of room for any fun scenes you want to see!


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles woke up starving.  He was so hungry it was painful.  He blinked open his eyes and could see pale early morning light streaming in the abundant windows.  Seriously, who lived in a place with that many windows?

Stiles stomach growled loudly, and he scowled at it.  He pushed off the blanket that he didn’t remembering putting on last night and sat up.  He didn’t remember Derek leaving for bed last night either.  He must have fallen asleep curled up on the werewolf’s chest.  Suddenly, Stiles’ cheeks were burning hot with shame.  Holy crap, he’d fallen asleep on a dom he’d met earlier that day.  He didn’t even know Derek’s last name.  The dom was probably ticked at Stiles for being so presumptuous, just going to sleep on top of him without so much as asking, and then taking up the whole couch like he owned the place.  Oh god, what if he’d drooled on Derek’s shirt?  Stiles wanted to crawl in a hole and die.

Unfortunately, his stomach growled painfully again, and he knew he needed to eat something.  Stiles stood up slowly, careful of the fact that he was probably going to be a little woozy.  It wasn’t his fault.  He hadn’t eaten in nearly two days now.  He’d been going to fix that yesterday, but then he dropped, which was the fastest way to lose your appetite that Stiles had ever seen.  

He noticed as he stood that he didn’t have shoes on anymore either.  Derek must have taken them off.  He turned and spotted a glass of water sitting on the end table next to the couch.  There was a little note next to it, which Stiles read.  

_‘If you’re hungry and I’m still not up, feel free to eat whatever’s in the kitchen.  -Derek.’_

Stiles read the note a second time, this time with his eyebrows raised dubiously, because geez, this dom apparently thought of everything.  Still, he was grateful for the water, which he sipped as he walked into the kitchen.

Stiles moved slowly, being careful not to jostle his head much.  That always made it worse.  He didn’t see Derek anywhere, but judging by the light coming through the really ridiculous amount of windows, it was still pretty early in the morning.  The werewolf was probably still sleeping.  Stiles stopped in the doorway of the kitchen and closed his eyes, extending his senses a little to search for the dom.  The last thing he wanted right now was to be snuck up on.  

He hardly ever used the abilities that had manifested around puberty when he found out he was a Spark.  His dad had said that he got it from his mom.  Stiles had learned to keep whatever magic he had hidden, though.  People didn’t like Sparks sometimes, he’d found out. Sometimes people were scared of them.  And Stiles had found that it was easier to get along with people, especially doms, if they just didn’t really notice him.  He hid his Spark so he could stay unremarkable.  He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d used his abilities in a way that had manifested physically.  He only ever drew on his Spark in ways like this, that couldn’t be seen by anyone else.  

Stiles tentatively pushed with his senses, searching Derek’s presence.  Stiles had  researched Sparks a lot, back when he first developed his abilities.  Apparently what he was really sensing was Derek’s energy, like in the scientific sense.  Sometimes he could sense other sources of energy too, fires or things that were moving pretty quickly, but it was easiest for him to sense living things.   People always felt like a small point of heat to him.  Stiles never really figured out why, but supernaturals tended to be just a little brighter, easier to sense.  If Stiles hadn’t been dropping yesterday, he probably would have noticed that Derek was a werewolf earlier.  Right now, though, it’s pretty helpful.  It didn’t take long for  Stiles to find Derek, who was still asleep in a room upstairs.  Huh.  Apparently his loft had two floors.

Stiles looked around the kitchen, and immediately spotted his bag of groceries from the day before.  Well, if a cheap loaf of bread and tiny not-actually-on-sale jar of peanut butter counted as groceries.  Stiles scowled as he walked over to the counter and set his glass of water down.  Stupid freaking grocery store.  He'd be so careful.  He'd kept track of ads and coupons, and he'd run out of food in his little apartment two days ago, but still he'd waited for the peanut butter to go on sale so that he could get some while still having enough for rent that month.  And then instead of quietly buying his peanut butter like he wanted, he'd looked like a complete idiot and then dropped in the frigging parking lot.  Not his best day.

Stiles glared at the bread and peanut butter, so pissed off at it that he didn't even want to eat it anymore.  The sub glanced around the kitchen and Derek's note came back into his mind.  He should take the dom at his word, right?  Cautiously, Stiles opened the fridge, and nearly wept because it's so _full_.  He grabbed an apple immediately and bit into it, and then moaned around the mouthful because it tasted so good and he hadn't had fresh fruit in for-freaking-ever.  Too expensive.

Stiles took a moment to just chew and lean against the fridge and enjoy the feeling of having something in his stomach finally.  He'd finished half of the apple when he started actually thinking about anything else again.  Taking another bite, he turned back to the fridge and started rooting around a little.  There were eggs, a bunch of fruit, and Stiles found a package of sausage links, among other things.  The sub glanced up towards where Derek was still sleeping, wondering when he would wake up.  The full fridge made Stiles want to cook, because he kind of missed it, really.  And maybe cooking breakfast for Derek would be a good way of saying thank you for, well, everything.  Stiles wanted to pay Derek back somehow, and he certainly couldn't pay him back monetarily.  And besides, everyone loves pancakes, right?  Stiles knew he made some pretty fabulous pancakes.  He was a pancake wizard.

Stiles started pulling ingredients out of the fridge and digging through cupboards for flour and sugar and baking powder.  There was a moment where he hesitated, worrying that maybe some of these things were meant for specific meals, and maybe he was overstepping his bounds.  But he told himself firmly that Derek had said specifically that anything in the kitchen was fair game.  So as long as he didn't start cooking the couch, he was good.  Right?  Right.

Stiles is almost done when Derek walks into the kitchen, blinking sleep from his eyes.  Stiles looks up from where he's tipping sausages from the pan to a plate, and oh man, that half-asleep bleary-eyed frown was actually kind of adorable.  Stiles definitely hadn't associated that word with a werewolf before.  Not that he'd known many werewolves.

Actually, Stiles realized as he stood there that there was a lot about the dom he hadn't noticed the night before when his head was still foggy from the drop.  Like his jaw that could probably cut glass, covered in dark stubble that just looked masculine as hell.  And the impressive musculature in his shoulders and chest and arms that looked really freaking incredible in that grey v-neck.  Ok, so maybe Stiles noticed the muscle-y part last night during the cuddling.  But seriously, a torso like that deserved to be noticed twice.

After a second Stiles realized he was staring, so he dropped his gaze a little and turned back to finishing breakfast.  He lifted the last pancake to check the bottom and then slid it onto the plate with the rest, next to the bowl full of orange slices.  Derek finally seemed to have woken up enough to speak as Stiles went to pull syrup out of a cupboard.  "Smells good," he said, his voice a little rumbly from disuse, and Stiles had to fight a smile, because seriously, sleepy werewolf grunting monosyllabically, this was too much.

"My plan was to wake you up with the smells, sir," Stiles said softly, flashing Derek a small smile and hoping that the wolf was in a good mood.

Derek huffed out a breath that Stiles realized after a second was a laugh.  The dom walked through the kitchen, pulling out plates and glasses and silverware.  "Well, it worked," he said, sounding amused.  "You didn't have to go to all this effort, though.  Not for me, at least."

Stiles shrugged and started carrying plates laden with breakfast to the little kitchen table.  "It wasn't much work, sir.  And I mean, you were so, you know.. nice to me yesterday.  So, um, I guess I'm trying to say thanks, sir.

Derek blinked.  "Oh... you're welcome."  Derek looked just slightly uncomfortable, but Stiles was feeling pretty uncomfortable himself, so he didn’t think much of it.

Stiles busied himself pouring juice into glasses and serving the food, carefully waiting until Derek sat down to sit himself.  His stomach was growling at him, because the apple he’d eaten was not even close to enough food.  Stiles tried to eat slowly and politely, instead of like a ravenous, mannerless hooligan, but it took a lot of effort.  He told his stomach firmly that it had to shut up and be patient.

After a couple of minutes of quiet with nothing but the clinking of silverware and a brief compliment from Derek on the quality of the pancakes, the dom finally spoke up.  "Are you feeling better than last night?" he asked.

Stiles quickly swallowed the food in his mouth and nodded.  "Yes, sir," he answered.  "I feel a lot better."  To be honest, he barely felt any aftereffects of the drop at all, and he felt more well rested than he had in a while.  If it weren't for the gnawing in his stomach, he'd feel great, and even that was slowly fading away in the wake of the pancakes he was stuffing into it.

Derek nodded, and looked somewhat pleased.  "Good.  You slept well?"

Stiles nodded again.  "Really well, actually, sir.  Well, until the sunlight started coming through the giant wall of windows.  I don't think they make curtains that big."  He was grinning a little as he said it, but the moment it was out of his mouth he regretted it.  He didn't know Derek nearly well enough to start making jokes about his house.  He glanced up worriedly, hoping the dom wasn't insulted.

If anything, Derek looked amused.  "I don't normally sleep on the couch," he said, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.  Stiles regarded him curiously for a second before dropping his eyes back to his plate.  He figured the breakfast must have put the wolf in a good mood.

Derek didn't seem particularly bothered by silence, so they mostly ate without talking.  Silence was difficult for Stiles, but thankfully eating kept his mouth busy enough that he didn't start babbling nonsense and kept his hands occupied so he didn't start fidgetting like he usually did when he was nervous.  When they were finished eating, Stiles lept up to start clearing away the plates.  Derek started putting things away while Stiles washed, and while Stiles would have liked to do it all himself, because serving Derek, even a little, made him feel less useless, he had to admit that they worked in tandem pretty well.

Stiles held a plate under the faucet to rinse off the syrup and looked over at Derek.  "Derek, sir?" he started, hesitantly.  He wasn't sure he wanted to break the silence, but he needed to ask about what happened next before he finished the dishes and descended into awkwardness.  

Derek made a small noise to indicate he was listening, so Stiles continued.  "I, um, I would walk home, after I'm done cleaning up, I mean, but... I don't really know where we are, sir.  I mean, we're obviously in your apartment, I know that, but I don't know _where_ we are.  I wasn't really paying attention on the way here.   I mean, I was dropping.  I don't even really remember getting here, so I don't know how to get back to the store or my apartment from here..."  With great effort Stiles managed to actually stop talking.  He looked  back at the dishes and felt his cheeks heating up slightly.  Hopefully breakfast had bought him enough good will that the werewolf wouldn't get too annoyed by his rambling.

Derek paused, looking over at Stiles, and then turned to face him.  "I'll give you a ride home," he said.  "But we should talk, before you go."

Stiles was suddenly worried.  He didn't know what Derek had planned, but that sounded like a Talk with a capital T, which usually meant no fun for Stiles.

Derek seemed to sense Stiles' shift in mood, because he continued quickly.  "Don't worry.  I just want to discuss getting you a dom.  You said yesterday that you didn't have one."

Stiles let out a breath and started washing the plate again, scrubbing the sticky syrup off.  "It's okay, sir," he said quietly, because as he suspected, he really didn't want to talk about this.  "I'm fine on my own."  And he was.  He was fine.  He could handle it and he was fine.  

Derek huffed out a short sigh, and Stiles cringed before he could stop himself.  "Stiles, I don't want to insult you or imply that you're not perfecty capable of being independent and living alone, but yesterday didn't really look like someone who was doing fine on their own.  There's a reason you're supposed to be registered with a dom.  You need someone you can go to when you're having trouble."

Stiles didn't really want to reply, because he knew Derek is right, but that didn't mean he had to be happy about it.  He couldn't really bring himself to agree, but he wasn't not about to be defiant to a dom in his own house either.  "I guess," he mumbled.

Derek was still watching him, and Stiles couldn't help but feel uncomfortable under his scrutiny.  "You've got a couple of options," the dom said, his voice firm but still soft.  "I can take you down to the PDSO, and they could assign you to one of their doms.  Or, I could find you one, if you want."

Stiles looked up at Derek, his brow crinkling in confusion.  "Find me one?"

Derek nodded.  "One of the doms in my pack could register you, or a friend of ours, someone we know is trustworthy."  He hesitated just a fraction of a second before adding, "Or I could register you myself, if you wanted."

Stiles's eyes widened, and he stared at the dom.  "...you?" he asked.  "You'd just... let me register with you?  You met me yesterday!"  Seriously, what was going on with this guy?  He knew next to nothing about Stiles, and now he was just offering to be his dom, like it wasn't a big deal or anything.

Derek looked away, and Stiles had the impression that he was embarrassed.  "Well, it's not like I'm offering you a collar or anything," he said.  "I'd only be your legal dom.  I'd register you under me, give you my number in case you need me, check in on you occasional to make sure you're doing okay, make sure you don't feel isolated.  That kind of thing."

Stiles turned red and dropped his gaze back to the dishes.  "Yeah, I know that- I mean, yes, sir.  I didn't mean to imply that you'd.. you know."  Recieving a collar from a dom was a romantic gesture.  If the sub accepted, it signaled the start of a relationship between the two.  And that wasn't at all what Stiles had meant.  "It's just that, I mean, you don't know me.  And you'd still just...?  I just happened to drop while you were nearby.  Why would you want to spend any more time taking care of me?"  What would Derek possibly get out of this?  Stiles had nothing to give him.

Derek frowned at Stiles, and the sub watched him cautiously, not really able to figure out what this particular frown meant.  It was at least the third or fourth he'd seen so far in this conversation.  "It's the right thing to do," Derek said, sounding like he didn't really know why he was explaining it.  "You shouldn't have to be alone.  It's... not right.  And it's in my power to fix it, so I should."

Stiles wasn't sure what to make of that.  "Um, o-okay, I guess..." he said lamely, because he was pretty sure he was supposed to say something.  He was confused still, and a part of him couldn't help but be wary.  What if Derek expected... well, just about anything, and Stiles couldn't live up to it?  A disappointed dom was a dangerous dom.  Stiles had learned that a long time ago.  But on the other hand... he couldn't help but wonder if this would mean more fancy breakfasts and more cuddles from an unfairly muscular dom when he drops, because that would be great.  But there had to be some kind of catch, right?

As the silence stretched, Derek seemed increasingly uncomfortable, and he looked away.  "It's just an option," he grunted.  "You don't have to.  You can register with one of the PDSO doms."

The sub suppressed a shudder, because the idea of being paired with some random dom he didn't know was terrifying.  "No," he said quickly.  "I mean, I.. I just don't want to be a burden, sir.  You don't- you don't have to do anything for me."

Derek was already shaking his head before the words had even tumbled out of Stiles' mouth.  "It's okay, Stiles, it's my choice to do this.  No one is making me."  He frowned again.  "I'm a dom.  I can't just leave you alone knowing that you'll be pushed into a drop again, and you'll be alone when it happens.  It goes against every instinct I have."

At least part of that resonated with Stiles.  Derek didn't want to fight against his instincts any more than Stiles did.  And if his natural dominant instincts were pushing him to assert some level of protection over whatever sub happens to be nearby, well, Stiles couldn't really judge him.  Still, he couldn't help but be scared of what Derek might expect from him in return.  "But I.. I don't know what I can do for you.  I .. what-what do you want, sir?  From me."

Derek's frown deepened.  "Nothing," he said, sounding confused.  "Or, well, whatever you want to give.  I just want to know that you'll be safer and happier."

That didn't exactly clear things up at all.  "Oh.  O-okay..." Stiles managed.

"Okay to which part?" Derek asked doubtfully.

The sub made vague gesture.  "You can register me.  Under you, I mean."  It appeared that his only options now were a dom he knew nothing about, or a dom who was very confusing but at least was good at cuddling.  Stiles figured that Derek was better than the unknown.

"Oh," Derek said, sounding mildly surprised.  "Okay.  Good.  Thank you."

Stiles had been nodding a little, but at Derek's 'thank you' his eyes shot back up to the werewolf.  "For what?" he practically demanded, to off balance by the whole situation to remember to be polite.  "I should be thanking you!"

"For trusting me," the dom replied.  His expression had softened again, and he almost looked relieved.

Stiles floundered for a second.  "Oh.  Um, you're welcome?  And thanks, for, you know.  Being ridiculously nice to me.  Sir."

Derek actually started laughing quietly at that, his shoulders shaking.  "You think this is ridiculously nice?  All I've done is let you sleep on my couch.  And technically buy you breakfast, but you cooked it, so I think that evens out."

Stiles gave him an extremely dubious look.  "What, gets better than this?"

The werewolf just shook his head, looking amused.  "If you think this is ridiculous, I can't wait for you to see what it's like to be actually spoiled."

Stiles' eyes widened and he looked away.  He didn't know what to do with that comment.  Was Derek implying that he was planning on spoiling Stiles at some point in the future?  And... what would that actually entail?  

Derek stood there looking awkward for a moment.  After the silence had stretched too long for either of them to really comment on the idea of spoiling, Derek shifted his weight between his feet and spoke up.  "I'm going to go take a shower.  And then you can shower, if you'd like, then we can go to the PDSO."

Stiles nodded quickly.  "Yes, sir.  I'll just be a minute to finish the dishes, sir."

Derek made a quiet noise of assent and left the room.  Stiles listened to his footsteps recede and let out a long, slow breath.  For a while he just stood there, trying to process what had just happened.  Apparently Derek was his dom now?  But, well, not in the sexy way.  Just in the 'call if you're dropping' way.  It was at this point that Stiles remembered that he didn't actually have a phone, so getting Derek's number would do exactly nothing.  He shook his head and returned to washing the dishes, figuring that he'd deal with that when it came up.

Well.  This weekend really wasn't turning out like he was expecting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That one seems to have been quite a bit longer than the ones before it. Oops. I didn't really mean to. They just had a lot to talk about.
> 
> Never fear, there are more Sterek cuddles coming soon! :D
> 
> As always, comment please!! I'd love to hear your thoughts and feedback and any ideas you might have about what you'd like to see these two do!


	5. Chapter 5

It seemed to Derek that the process of getting Stiles registered at the Pan-Dynamic Services Office went pretty smoothly, all things considered.  Derek found out that Stiles’ real name was apparently Przemyslaw Stilinski, which made Derek immediately understand why he went by ‘Stiles’.  The woman working the front desk at the PDSO tried to pronounce it, stuttering through a couple iterations of “Perz.. per-zeh-mees..” before Stiles interrupted, meekly telling her that he was just Stiles.  The woman looked doubtfully at the name Stiles had written one more time before seeming to accept ‘Stiles’ as an adequate substitute.  Stiles had turned red by this point, and he glanced hesitantly at Derek, who did his best to look neutral about the whole thing.  “It’s Polish.  It was a family name,” Stiles muttered, although Derek thought that he really shouldn’t have to explain his name to anyone.  

Derek was actually more focused on Stiles’ last name than his unusual given name.   Stilinski .  Derek knew he recognized it from somewhere, but he couldn’t for the life of him place it.  He knew he’d never met Stiles before yesterday, so that couldn’t be it.  Maybe a relative?  It seemed unlikely, given that Stiles appeared to be alone in Beacon Hills.  Like Derek had said to Scott last night, if Stiles had family around, they would surely have made sure he was registered under a dom.

Derek was pulled from his thoughts as the woman started asking Stiles more and more insistent questions.  The dom quickly realized that she was having trouble pulling up Stiles’ records in her computer, probably because he wasn’t currently registered under anyone.

“You’re not coming up, sweetie,” she said, frowning at the computer.  “Are you sure you’ve given me all the right information?  Address and everything?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Stiles said quietly.  “It’s all correct.  I’m sorry I’m causing problems…”

“Oh, don’t worry, sweetie, I’m sure it’s the computer, not you,” she said.  “How about I try looking you up under your dom?  Not Mr. Hale, obviously, your previous dom.”

Derek looked over at Stiles, who was fidgeting with a pen and shifting from foot to foot.  “I, um, I don’t have one, ma’am,” he said softly, without looking up at her.

Her eyes shot up to look at Stiles, then up to Derek as though to verify what she’d just heard.  “Don’t have one, as in, not registered under anyone?”

Stiles kept fidgeting, and Derek was getting the impression that he couldn’t stop his hands if he wanted to.  “No, ma’am,” Stiles said.

The woman’s eyes went wide.  “Don’t you know how dangerous that is?  Besides being illegal.  How long have you been unregistered?  You should have come in sooner, we could have paired you with a dom.”

Stiles looked about ready to bolt, and Derek could smell his anxiety, so the werewolf quickly stepped in.  “He has me now,” he interjected smoothly.  “What’s important is that he’s registered now, and he’s perfectly safe, I will make sure of that.  There’s no sense dwelling on what we can’t change anymore.”

The woman looked dubious, but she accepted it, and Derek could almost taste Stiles’ relief that she seemed to be done questioning him.  

When they left half an hour later, Derek could see how glad Stiles was to be out of the place.  They got into Derek’s Camaro and Stiles slumped into his seat, running a hand over his face roughly.  Derek frowned as he watched the sub.  He hadn’t realized just how stressful that process would be for Stiles.  It seemed that Stiles had a lot of anxiety associated with having to talk about whether he did or did not have a dom in his life.  This wasn’t the first time that Derek had noticed it, but it was the first time he was sure that Stiles’ reaction wasn’t because of the emotional overload of the drop.  He wanted to take Stiles back to the loft and wrap him in a blanket and feed him ice cream until he stopped smelling subtly like panic, but he was pretty sure that Stiles was ready to just go back home and regain some semblance of normalcy.  Derek looked away from Stiles and started the car.  “I should take you home,” he said to the sub.

Stiles looked up at him, and for a second he didn’t say anything, but then he dropped his eyes back to his lap and nodded.  “Oh, yeah.  Um, yeah, I guess.”

Derek frowned, watching the sub.  “You don’t want to?”  

Stiles shook his head quickly.  “Yeah, I do, I guess, I mean, I should.  Go home.  Sir.”

Derek’s eyebrows were furrowed together, and he started rethinking what Stiles would want right now, because he’d clearly assumed incorrectly.  “You live alone, right?” he asked, because maybe that was it.  Stiles didn’t want to be left alone at the moment.  “I wouldn’t mind, if you wanted to stay with me for a while.”  Although Derek was also thinking that he didn’t want to let the boy out of his sight, so maybe ‘wouldn’t mind’ was a bit of an understatement.

Stiles just kept shaking his head without looking up at Derek.  “No, no, you’ve done way more than enough for me already.  I should just go home, like you said, sir.  It’s no big deal.  I’m used to living alone, by this point.  It’s cool.  Besides, I’ve got like six books from the library right now, so it’s not like I’ll be bored.  I’ll be totally fine.”

The werewolf’s frown deepened, because he didn’t honestly believe a word that Stiles had said, despite the fact that the boy wasn’t lying.  That is, his heart hadn’t sped up at all.  But Derek was well aware that just because someone wasn’t lying didn’t mean they were telling the truth.  And Stiles smelled embarrassed, and something underneath that.  It was hard for Derek to quite figure it out, because he’d only had a day to grow accustomed to the fluctuations of Stiles’ scent, but he could tell that it wasn’t a positive emotion.  It could have been sadness, but Derek wasn’t sold.  “You should come and stay with me.  A few days, at least,” he said again, sounding more decided this time.  It would help Stiles get his feet under him more securely, emotionally speaking, he reasoned.  Plus, it might make him more comfortable with Derek, which meant that he would be far more likely to actually call the dom if he had a problem.

Stiles had gone back to fidgeting.  “No, sir, really, I shouldn’t,” he said, sounding a little miserable  “Not that I didn’t like staying with you!  Staying in your loft last night was great, 10/10, would recommend, and I’m really grateful for everything you’ve done for me, and I don’t want to sound like I’m not, because I am, really, but I just, you know, you don’t need to take care of me.  I owe you enough already.” 

For a long moment, Derek just stared at Stiles, somewhat dismayed, trying to figure out why Stiles was so hesitant to ask for what he obviously wanted, to the point of actively arguing against it.  Why was Stiles so convinced that he shouldn’t have what he wanted?  “You’ve had a rough couple of day,” Derek tried, his voice gentle.  “It’s normal for you not to want to be alone right now.”

Stiles shrugged.  “I mean, I guess,” he conceded, not sounding convinced.  “It’s not like being alone is all that great, but it’s fine.  It’s not like I’m going to drop again.”

If anything, Derek was even more confused, because Stiles had essentially admitted that he didn’t want to be alone, but that he also wasn’t going to do anything about it.  He decided to try another tactic.  “Stiles.. you don’t know very many people in Beacon Hills, do you?”

The sub smelled sharply of shame, although Derek had no idea why that question would be any more embarrassing to him than the others.  Stiles just looked down at his lap and murmured, “Um, no, sir.  I used to, when I was a kid I mean.  I grew up here.  My dad was the county sheriff, actually.  But we moved to San Jose when I was twelve, so I doubt anyone really remembers me.”

Suddenly, Derek remembered where he knew Stiles’ name from.  “Stilinski!” he exclaimed before he’d even thought about it.  

Stiles looked up at him, bewildered.  “Um, yes, sir?”

Derek looked over at the sub and elaborated quickly.  “Your name seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place it until you mentioned your father.  Sheriff Stilinski.  John, right?  I knew him when I was young.”

Stiles’ entire face lit up in a way that made Derek’s heart clench.  “You did?” the sub asked, almost smiling.

Derek nodded, eager to talk about something that made Stiles seem less uncomfortable.  “He helped me quite a bit, when I was a teenager.  He tried to, at least.”  It had been a long time since Derek had thought about the details of the aftermath of the fire.  It had been over a decade, and Derek had come a long way since the trauma and horror of losing his family.  He had a pack again now, a stable, good pack.  It wasn’t his family, but it was  a family.  “He was a good man,” Derek added, remembering how hard the Sheriff had worked to find the culprit, and how gentle he had been with a terrified sixteen year old werewolf.

Stiles nodded but dropped his head a little again, looking down at his lap.  “Yeah.  Yeah, he was.  He was the best.”  He definitely smelled of sadness now, and Derek realized that meant that John must have passed away.  But he also figured that if Stiles wanted to talk about it, he would when he was ready.  And if that never happened, it wasn’t really Derek’s business anyway.  After a moment, Stiles looked back up.  “You’re right, sir,” he said.

The werewolf’s eyebrows furrowed again.  “About what?”

“It’s gonna suck when you take me home,” the sub said, turning to look out the window as he spoke.  “Because, no, I really  don’t want to be alone right now.”

Derek takes a slow breath so that he doesn’t cheer.  “Do you want to come back to my loft for a few days?” he asked gently.  

Stiles looked up, his eyes hopeful despite his hesitation. “If- if that’s okay, sir.  I really don’t want to be obnoxious, and I know that I can get on people’s nerves pretty quickly, I mean, people usually just want me in small doses, and you’ve had a pretty big dose of Stiles in the last day or so, which sounds weirder out loud than it did in my head, but I mean that’s the problem, I never know when to shut up.  Like right now.  Sorry.”

Under different circumstances, Derek was sure that Stiles’ rambling might annoy him, but right now he was having to fight the upward curl at the corner of his lips.  He couldn’t help it.  It seemed like half the time Stiles chose his words so carefully Derek got the feeling the sub thought they were grenades.  But then the other half of the time, well, this happened.  It was like Stiles opened his mouth and the words just started to tumble out, picking up speed and momentum as they went, and it took skill and years of practice to rein them in again.  At this point, Derek realized that he still hadn’t actually replied to Stiles’ long-winded question, and Stiles had looked up at him again, visibly nervous.  The sub had started fiddling with his seatbelt in a way that made Derek think he didn’t even realize he was doing it.  “I offered, Stiles,” Derek said with a soft smile.  “I wouldn’t have done that if it wasn’t okay.”

Stiles nodded and looked relieved, but his hands hadn’t stopped moving.  “Okay, um, good,” he said.  “I mean, thank you, sir.”

Derek just nodded and tried to look reassuring.  He started the car and was backing out when Stiles spoke up again.  “Sir?” he asked hesitantly.

Derek looked over at him, his eyebrows up.  “Hmm?”

“Can we, um, is it okay if we go to my apartment anyway?” Stiles asked.  “It’s just, you know, I should grab some clothes and stuff.”

Derek quickly squashed the urge to tell Stiles that he can just borrow his clothes because Derek could already tell what it would do to him to have the boy smelling like him.  Like he was  his .  But Derek knows that’s not going to happen soon, because he only barely got Stiles to agree to come back with him.  The sub was still nervous and freaked out and Derek refused to push him.  It would be enough for now that he was staying in the loft.  So Derek just nodded and said, “Of course,” and pulled out of the parking lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: In case you're interested (read: you're even a fraction of the linguistics geek that I am) Przemyslaw is pronounced [pʃɛ̃ˈmɨswaf] which is approximately SHEM-ISS-WAFF. Because Polish, that's why. This website (http://www.forvo.com/word/przemys%C5%82aw/) will actually pronounce it for you, if you want to hear it. There are many headcanons for Stiles' name, but this one is my favorite.
> 
> As always, comments are appreciated! And by 'appreciated' I mean that I get really excited about comments. Speaking of which, thank you so much to everyone who's been reading and subscribing and kudos-ing and commenting. The positive response to this fic has been just wonderful. It's such a fun story to write, but all the feedback makes me want to spend even more time on it. You guys are awesome.
> 
> Also, I keep promising more Sterek cuddles. Next chapter, I promise. They're a little bit of a slow build.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I'd switch back and forth between Derek and Stiles POV, but I wanted this chapter to be Derek's POV even though we just did a Derek one. And rather than try to shoehorn in a Stiles chapter, I just said hey, it's my story, I can do what I want! XD
> 
> Also, I had no idea when I planned this chapter what a doozy it would be. I'm not totally sure how I feel about how it turned out, but I think I like it. It was kinda rough though. I hope you enjoy it!

The drive to Stiles apartment was uneventful, thankfully.  Stiles gave Derek directions, and Derek became more and more grateful that Stiles had agreed to stay with him for a while as they drove past increasingly run down apartment buildings.  It was then that Derek started to give some thought to what had happened in the grocery store the day before.  He’d been distracted by Stiles’ drop at the time, but now that he thought about it…  Stiles had been nearly in tears over a jar of peanut butter, and Derek had been bewildered, but now, seeing the neighborhood they were driving through… Maybe Stiles really didn’t have much money.  Maybe an extra dollar was a big deal to him.  It seemed so innoccuous to Derek, but maybe if Stiles just didn’t have the money, a dollar would be a much bigger deal.  When he had finally parked in front of the one Stiles said was his, Derek had started wondering what he would have to do to keep Stiles from ever coming back here.  Derek could smell black mold, and they weren’t even in the building yet.  

Derek didn’t bother offering to help, because he didn’t want Stiles to try to fight him on it.  Instead, he just got out of the car and followed Stiles into the building.  Several flights of stairs and a long hallway later, Stiles unlocked the door to a tiny, one room apartment.

“Sorry about the mess,” Stiles said, glancing nervously back at Derek, who was following him through the door.  “I wasn’t really expecting anyone to come back with me yesterday after I went to the store.  So I didn’t really straighten up or anything.”  He walked into the middle of the room and looked around quickly before turning back to Derek shyly, as though waiting for his reaction.

“It’s fine,” Derek said, trying not to let any reaction show on his face.  “Why don’t you get what you need?”  Stiles nodded quickly and darted through the only door in the apartment, which Derek assumed led to the bathroom.

The rest of the apartment was almost hard for Derek to take in.  There wasn’t any furniture that he could see.  In one corner, there was a little nest of a couple of pillows and a few blankets.  Near that, up against a wall, was a row of cardboard boxes.  They had clothes in them, neatly folded.  There were books scattered across the floor, some of them sitting open, others with multiple scraps of paper marking pages.  A couple of crumpled t-shirts and a few pairs of socks were tossed aimlessly on the floor, too, and Derek had to pull his gaze away from them before he started counting the holes.  In another corner of the room, there was a kitchen.  Well, calling it a kitchen may have been a bit generous.  It had a sink and a stove and a mini-fridge and a little cupboard, but that was about it.  Nothing was out of place there, no dirty dishes stacked in the sink, and Derek realized with a twist of his stomach that it wasn’t because Stiles was particularly clean.

Derek clenched his jaw and tried to shove down the protective anger that was swelling in him.  Stiles was never coming back here.  Not even if Derek had to knock down the building to keep him away.

Stiles stumbled back into the room with a toothbrush and a little bar of soap, and Derek was struck with the thought that those two things were probably all Stiles had in his bathroom.  The sub snatched up a plastic grocery sack and dropped the two items in the bottom before starting to pull t-shirts from one of the boxes.  “I’ll just be a second,” he said with glance back to Derek.  Derek just nodded, because he wasn’t sure what to say.  He figured that it probably wouldn’t take Stiles more than five minutes to pack up everything he had in the whole apartment, if he wanted.  The dom glanced around, looking for a way to help, and started to gather books from the floor.  They were on widely disparate topics, ranging from fantasy novels to non-fiction.  Derek spotted a book on conspiracy theories, a biography of Marie Curie, something called _The Name of the Wind_ , and a book on the early expansion of the railroad system.  He kept stacking up the books, because thinking about the different topics kept his mind away from imagining Stiles actually living in this place for the last how-many months.  And that was good, because he really didn’t want to descend into a frothing rage, carry Stiles bodily down the stairs, and refuse to let him back into the apartment building.

Derek moved to pick up the last book, one that was laying open with many pages marked.  When he closed it, he noticed the title, _A Brief History of Time_ , by Stephen Hawking.  Derek blinked.  Not exactly light ready.  Although, he supposed neither were several of the others.  He realized, then, that Stiles was watching him.  Derek set the book on top of the pile and raised an eyebrow at Stiles.  “Did you study astronomy in college?” he asked casually.

Stiles laughed out loud as he crossed the room to push the pile of books into another plastic sack.  “I didn’t go to college,” he said, clearly somewhat amused.

Derek frowned.  He wasn’t exactly surprised.  It looked like Stiles couldn’t afford a bed, much less college tuition.  But still, from the way he’d talked before, Derek didn’t think things had always been this bad.  And if Stiles was reading Stephen Hawking for fun, he clearly should have gone to college.  “Why not?” he asked carefully.

Stiles just shrugged as he moved around the room, making sure he had everything.  “Mark, my dom, didn’t really think it was important for me to go,” he said.  “And I mean, he was right.  He had a job that was good enough to provide for both of us.  I didn’t need a degree.”  Stiles sounded nonchalant as he spoke, but he smelled embarrassed, and Derek abruptly hated how familiar he was getting with the tiny variations of ‘embarrassed’ in Stiles’ scent.  He also was beginning to despise Mark just a little bit.  Still, he didn’t figure there was much point in pressing the issue.  

“Do you have everything you need?” Derek asked, eager to get Stiles out of there.

Stiles nodded quickly.  “Yes, sir.  Anyway, it’s just for a few days.  It won’t be that big of a deal if I’ve left something.”

Derek hesitated, wondering if he should say something about the fact that he was going to do his level best to make sure Stiles never lived here again, but before he could come to a decision there was a knock at the door.  Stiles frowned at it, then glanced at Derek before setting his two plastic sacks on the floor and walking toward the door.  “Um, just a sec,” he muttered to Derek.

Stiles pulled open the door to reveal a middle aged man, balding somewhat, with a disgruntled look on his face.  “Stilinski!” he said as soon as the door opened.  “Where were you yesterday?  You owe me rent!”

Stiles blanched and took a couple steps back to let the man into the apartment.  “Right, sorry, sir, I was, uh, staying with a friend.”

“Trying to dodge paying me?” The man accused before looking over at Derek with a judgmental glance.

“No, sir!” Stiles protested, digging quickly through one of the boxes by the wall.  “No, I didn’t mean to, it just happened!”  The man grunted, and a second later Stiles returned with a small pile of bills held together with a paper clip.  “Here,” he said softly, holding it out towards the man.

Stiles’ landlord, or at least that’s who Derek assumed the man was, rifled through the bills for a second.  Then he looked up at Stiles.  “And the rest of it?”

Stiles’ eyes went wide.  “What do you mean, the rest of it?  That’s all of it!”

The landlord rolled his eyes.  “You’re late,” he said, sounding like he was explaining it to a toddler.  “There’s a late fee, fifty bucks.”

Stiles started to look a little panicked.  “But it’s only a day late!  And I- I don’t have any more, I’d have to.. I mean…”

It was at this point that Derek couldn’t take anymore.  “It’s my fault he was late,” the werewolf said, pulling his wallet from his pocket.  “He was staying with me.  I’ll pay it.”

The man looked dubious but he shrugged his assent anyway.  Stiles didn’t accept it so easily.  “What? No!” he said, turning towards Derek.  “No, you shouldn’t-”

“Stiles,” Derek interrupted.  “It’s fine.”  He handed the money to Stiles’ landlord, who counted it all again briefly and then walked out of the apartment without so much as a goodbye and slammed the door behind him.

Stiles looked like he was about ten seconds from crying.  Derek took a slow step towards him, wanting to comfort him somehow, but Stiles flinched away and stumbled back to lean against the wall.  “Stiles,” Derek began, trying to keep his tone as gentle as possible.  He didn’t want Stiles to think that he was judging him.  Because he wasn’t.  He just wanted to be able to help.  “Tell me what’s going on.”

Stiles was staring at the floor.  For a second it looked like he might stay stubbornly silent, but finally he spoke.  “I haven’t been able to get a job,” he muttered.

Derek let out a slow breath.  He knew he needed to tread carefully.  “What have you been living off of?”

Stiles shrugged but still refused to meet Derek’s eyes.  “Um, Mark had a little bit of money saved, and it went to me after he… after the car accident.  But, uh… he- he never really talked to me about money stuff, you know? And he had some debts, I guess, I don’t really know.  But the bank- the bank took the house.  So I sold anything I could and I.. I moved back here, because I like Beacon Hills, when I was a kid I loved this place, and if I had to be somewhere, it might as well be here, but…”  

The sub took a shuddering breath, his eyes darting around but never lifting from the floor.  “I- I tried to get a job.  I swear I did.  I just, it was so hard.  I mean, no one wants some guy with a high school diploma who can barely talk to doms without freaking out and who never shuts up.  I even- I went to this one interview, at a shop, and the interviewer came to get the guy in front of me, and I saw that she was a dom, and I just… I left.  I couldn’t do it.  I couldn’t sit there and answer questions and look her in the eye and not fidget and.. I couldn’t.”  

Stiles closed his eyes and swallowed hard.  “I t-tried.  I was careful.  I didn’t buy thing I didn’t need and I found the cheapest place I could and I saved my money so I could try to get a job, and I sold things I didn’t need, I sold Mark’s old collar, and my phone, and…  But I’m running out and I don’t know what to do.”  Stiles’ voice hitched.  “I just- I don’t know what to do.”  

Before he’d even made a conscious decision to do so, Derek had crossed the space between them and pulled Stiles against him.  He held the sub against his chest and wrapped his arms tightly around him.  “It’s okay,” he murmured.

Stiles shook his head against Derek’s shoulder, though he didn’t try to pull away.  “No, it’s not okay!  It’s not!”  Tears were coming now, and Derek could feel them soak through the fabric of his shirt.  “I hate that I’m like this, I hate it so much!  I c-can’t do anything right, and it’s so fu-fucking- I hate it!”

Derek just held Stiles as the sub shook against him, sobbing into his shoulder.  Stiles had buried his face in Derek’s neck, like he wanted to hide there, and Derek wanted nothing more than to let him.  “Shh,” he soothed and he rubbed one hand between Stiles’ shoulder blades.  The other arm remained firmly around his waist, making sure he felt secure.  “Shh, it’s okay.  You’re not alone anymore.  I can help.  It’s going to be okay.”  

Derek wasn’t sure how long they stood there, Stiles’ crying muffled by Derek’s shoulder, Derek occasionally trying to say something calming and hoping it was helping.  Eventually, Stiles’ breathing became more even and the tears stopped.  Derek thought at first that Stiles was going to go through another subdrop, but it never came.  The dom wasn’t entirely surprised.  Sometimes a sub could get their emotions out and dealt with before it pushed them into a drop.  The crying probably helped.  And maybe the hugging.

Derek was threading his fingers through Stiles’ hair slowly when the sub spoke up again, probably five minutes later.  “I’m sorry I keep doing this to you, sir,” he said quietly, sounding miserable.  “I swear I’m not normally like this, with all the dropping and crying and stuff.”

“It’s okay, Stiles,” Derek assured him.  “You don’t have to apologize.  It’s not your fault.”

Stiles didn’t seem convinced.  “I guess.  But it still sucks.”

Derek shifted his grip on the sub to hold him more tightly.  “I know it does.”

Stiles took a few slow breaths, and he seemed to be getting steadier.  “On second thought,” he said, “maybe I should consider doing it more often, because I’ve been getting some seriously quality cuddles out of it.”

Derek huffed out a laugh and pulled back to look at the sub.  “You don’t have to have an emotional breakdown to get a hug,” he informed him.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Stiles retorted archly.  “It’s been pretty effective so far, sir.”

Derek shook his head and aimed a playful swat at Stiles’ backside as the sub walked over to pick up his discarded belongings.  Derek regretted the gesture the moment he’d done it, because what was he thinking?  He and Stiles didn’t know each other nearly well enough for that kind of teasing.  Stiles didn’t seem perturbed, though, so Derek let it go.  The sub just picked up his two bags and turned to face Derek.  Despite his red, puffy eyes, his lips were quirked up in the ghost of a grin, which made Derek feel a lot better about the whole thing.  “Can, um, can we go now, sir?” he asked.  “I just don’t really want to be here anymore.”

Derek agreed.  So much.  “Yeah, let’s go.”  He grabbed one of the grocery sacks from Stiles and then held the door open for the sub, sending him a soft smile as he walked out into the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I *may* have taken the opportunity to name-drop my favorite novel. *regrets nothing*
> 
> I feel like I should point out, Stiles' issues with talking to doms and his clear anxiety problems are not typical of subs in this universe or anything. While subs might tend to feel like maybe they should be a little more respectful to a dom, they wouldn't normally have the kinds of problems Stiles talks about. Stiles actually has an anxiety disorder. I'm not sure yet if/when Derek will figure out that Stiles has a treatable mental health problem, but Stiles doesn't realize that's what's going on with him. I hope that I treat the subject realistically and respectfully. To be honest, I'm mostly drawing from personal experience. Also, if every anyone thinks there should be a trigger warning on anything, just let me know. I feel like so far nothing has been too awful, but I'd rather err on the side of caution.
> 
> As always, thanks so much for reading! You guys are wonderful, and I'm amazed by what a positive response I've been getting for this story. Thanks so much, everyone. Please, leave a comment, I'd love to know your thoughts and ideas and suggestions and unrelated funny stories, etc. ^_^


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles was honestly a little surprised by how nice it felt to be back in Derek’s apartment.  It was a relief, like it was already easier to breathe once the door to the loft closed behind him.  It felt like nothing could hurt him here, because it was just him and Derek and there was nothing to be afraid of.  

Of course, then Stiles started wondering at what point he’d come to trust the werewolf this much in the last day or so.  It seemed a little ridiculous to him that he should feel so comfortable around Derek already.  But then again, he’d come up from a drop in the dom’s lap, fallen asleep in his arms, and then cried his eyes out on his shoulder, and throughout all of it, Derek had yet to even seem annoyed.  It was a lot of evidence in Derek’s favor, to be frank.  And the dom seemed completely insistent on taking care of him, so who was Stiles to complain?

They’d bought sandwiches for lunch on the way back, and they ate them in front of the TV.  Derek pulled up Netflix, and they watched an episode of a show about a group of criminals screwing over white collar douche bags, and it was funny and Stiles enjoyed it, but he spent most of the time wishing Derek was about a foot closer and had his arm around him.  Stiles hadn’t realized until just then that in the day he’d spent with Derek, he’d already been touched and hugged and generally shown any kind of physical affection more than he had in the previous year.  Stiles hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it.  And it was like now he’d gotten a taste, he couldn’t get enough.  His submissive instincts were whining for more cuddling, or even just Derek’s hand on the back of his neck to ground him and make him feel safe.  The proximity was better than nothing, though.  He was close enough to feel the warmth of Derek’s body.  It was nice, even without snuggling into the warmth like he wanted to.  It was nice just to eat some real food and watch TV and just relax.

After the show was over, Stiles quickly collected the trash from their lunch and cleaned up the crumbs they’d left on the coffee table.  Derek thanked him, and Stiles just shrugged, because it had taken all of thirty seconds and Derek was the one who’d paid for the food, so thanks seemed unnecessary.  

Derek looked hesitant for a moment before standing up.  “I’ve got some work I need to get done.  Are you okay down here if I go up to my office?”  He gestured at the small spiral staircase in the corner of the room.

Stiles nodded.  “Yeah, I’m fine, sir.”  Derek still looked unsure, and Stiles almost rolled his eyes.  “I’m fine,” he repeated, insistent.  “Seriously, I’m not made of glass.  You can go upstairs without worrying about me having some kind of episode the moment you’re out of sight.”  His tone was probably too sassy, and hopefully Derek wouldn’t get mad, but Stiles thought the dom was being way overly cautious.  

Thankfully, Derek didn’t seem upset by the sass.  He did roll his eyes, but he looked distinctly amused.  “I’ll be right upstairs if you need anything,” he said as he turned away.  Stiles just nodded.  Derek stopped when he got to the stairs and turned back to Stiles, something close to concern on his face.  “I mean it, Stiles,” he said firmly.  “If you need anything, at all, come up and find me.”

Once again, Stiles had to fight not to roll his eyes.  Instead, he nodded dutifully and said, “Yes, sir.  I will.”  Derek seemed somewhat placated, and he vanished up the stairs.

Only once the werewolf had left did Stiles realize he had no real idea what he was going to do with himself.  He glanced around the loft, at a loss.  He could read some of the books he’d brought with him, but suddenly, he didn’t want to.  It wasn’t that he didn’t find them interesting anymore.  It was just that the public library had been his only source of entertainment for a long time, and now that he had options, he couldn’t bring himself to just sit and read.  He was sure he’d finish the books before he had to return them anyway.  

The sub glanced at the TV, wondering about turning on something else on Netflix.  Derek hadn’t said that anything was off limits, but he also hadn’t specified that Stiles could use his Netflix either.  The werewolf probably wouldn’t care, Stiles thought, but he also didn’t want to risk anything.  Eventually, he knew, he would screw something up and end up in trouble.  He always did.  But he could at least put that off for as long as possible.  

Stiles found himself just wandering aimlessly around the loft for a little while, lost in his thoughts.  After a few minutes, he ended up in the kitchen, wondering if he should make dinner for Derek tonight.  Cooking breakfast for him had seemed to go over well, and Stiles was a pretty good cook when he bothered to put the time and effort into it.  He was about to open up the pantry to see what he had to work with when he spotted some flour on the floor by the stove.  Shit.  He must have spilled a little while he was making the pancakes.  How hadn’t he noticed?  Stiles took a second to breathe.  Clearly Derek hadn’t seen it, so he was okay.  Just clean it up and move on.  The dom never had to know.

In his search for a broom, Stiles found most of Derek’s cleaning supplies, and now he was paranoid that he’d left other messes around.  He didn’t have anything else to do anyway, so Stiles started cleaning.  He didn’t love cleaning, exactly, but it wasn’t hard, and he knew that he should.  Derek was doing so much for him, the least he could do was try to be good.  No one likes a lazy sub, his brain supplied, and Stiles knew it was true.  He’d heard it often enough.

An hour and half later, the kitchen was spotless and gleaming, and the entire first floor of the loft was dust-free.  Stiles was just beginning to put the supplies away when he heard Derek coming back down the stairs.  He looked up to find the werewolf watching him, his head cocked to the side.  “I, um, I thought I’d get some work done too, sir,” Stiles said as he closed the cupboard under the sink where he’d found the supplies.  

Derek’s eyebrows had gone up.  “Work?”

Stiles just shrugged.  “I cleaned the kitchen and dusted.”

Derek shook his head.  “I know, I can tell.  I just meant.. you didn’t have to.  You don’t have to clean for me.”

Stiles knew he didn’t have to, but he still should.  Anyway, he wasn’t about to argue with the dom, so he just shrugged again and decided to change the subject.  “I was thinking about making dinner.  I mean, later.  Not right now, obviously.  It’s like two in the afternoon.”

Derek frowned a little, which had Stiles worried.  “If you want to,” he said.  

“I like cooking,” Stiles said, a little hesitantly.  

Derek’s frown eased somewhat.  “Okay.”  He paused, and for a second Stiles thought he wasn’t going to say anything else, but then he spoke up again.  “I don’t want you to think that you have to do all the cooking and cleaning and laundry like some Stepford sub who kneels during meals or something.”

Stiles almost asked what Derek did want out of him then, if he didn’t want him doing any of the stuff he was supposed to be doing.  And the way Derek had said it kind of made Stiles angry, like he was being weird and stupid for thinking that he should do any of that.  That was what was normally expected, wasn’t it?  At least, it always had been, in Stiles’ experience.  He looked down, hoping it would hide any of his internal reaction that might be leaking into his expression.  “Sorry, sir,” he said, because he didn’t know what else to say.

“No, don’t be sorry,” Derek said quickly, and now Stiles was starting to get frustrated.  “If you want to clean or cook or whatever, please, go ahead.  Just.. only because you want to.”  He was looking at Stiles with an almost imploring expression, and Stiles suddenly realized that Derek wasn’t sure he was explaining himself adequately.  Stiles blinked up at the werewolf, and his frustration evaporated.  He knew what it felt like to have trouble expressing himself.  He just didn’t expect someone like Derek to have the same problem.  

“I want to,” Stiles clarified.  “I mean, I haven’t really gotten to cook in a long time.  That stove-sink-thing in my apartment barely counts as a kitchen.  And yours is really nice.  So, you know, it was kinda fun this morning.”

Derek seemed to relax, and Stiles congratulated himself.  Maybe he could keep things from going to shit by the time the night was out.  He just had to pay attention to what variation of Eyebrows the dom was sporting.  Derek nodded, and then looked up, as though remembering something.  “Actually, could you make enough for four people?”

Stiles nodded.  “Yeah, no problem.  Someone else coming?”

“My Alpha and his sub,” Derek said.  “They’re on their way back into town, and they want to stop by.  Unless they have somewhere else they have to get to, it’s likely that they’ll stay for a while.  Through dinner at least.”  

Stiles swallowed.  Derek’s Alpha.  Stiles had never had much interaction with werewolf culture, but as far as he knew, an Alpha was like a Super Dom or something.  Even other doms in their pack were submissive to them.  Suddenly Stiles was nervous.  There was no way in hell he was getting through a conversation with an Alpha without sticking his foot in his mouth, and who knew what would happen then.  Anything from a sore bottom to Derek kicking him out and telling him to find himself a new dom.

Derek seemed to sense his anxiety, which didn’t surprise Stiles.  “You don’t have to cook, if it would be difficult.  I could just order a pizza.  That’s what we normally do.”

Stiles took a breath and got a hold of himself quickly.  Derek had apparently misinterpreted his discomfort, but cooking would actually be good for him.  It would give him something to do.  He was less likely to do something stupid when he was occupied.  “No, sir, I can cook.  I mean, I’d like to,” he said quickly.

The werewolf looked a little doubtful but nodded and headed towards the couch.  Stiles let out a breath and turned back to the kitchen to start figuring out what he would make.

Ten minutes later, he’d found all the ingredients for enchiladas, and he figured that was a crowd pleaser, which was good since he had no idea what Derek’s Alpha did and didn’t like.  Abruptly, to Stiles at least, Derek had gotten up off of the couch and walked over to the door to pull it open.  Stiles’ breath hitched.   _Calm down,_ he told himself firmly.   _It’s fine.  You’re fine._  He took a slow, measured breath, and then turned to walk out of the kitchen.  It wouldn’t be polite to hide there, since he didn’t need to start cooking for at least another two hours.

He walked into the main room of the loft, listening to Derek talk to the two men who had arrived.  The huge room had felt open before, but now it just made Stiles feel small.  Derek glanced back at him and smiled.  “Come here, I want you to meet my Alpha,” he said happily.  Stiles walked over to him quickly, and ducked his head in deference to the Alpha, but not before getting a brief look at his face.  Wait, was that-?  Derek was already talking again.  “This is-”

“Stiles?!” the Alpha interrupted.

The sub’s head shot up.  His eyes widened.  “...Scott?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter took me so long to post!! It was a beast. It just kept getting longer and longer, but I didn't want to cut anything out because I felt like it was important for character development, and eventually I just chopped the chapter in half. So this is the first half. Hence the cliffhanger. The good news is that the next chapter is almost done. And then you will finally get Sciles, the brotp to end all brotps!!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright alright, I give in, you can have it early! I was going to wait until later tonight, but look, see how much I love you, I'm posting it now! :D

Scott was standing there, right in front of him, frozen, staring at Stiles like he was a ghost.  Scott was different, so different than he had been as a kid.  He looked strong now, not like some scrawny asthmatic.  But at the same time, he was just like Stiles remembered him.  His eyes hadn’t changed.  

And then Scott lunged toward him, and before Stiles even had time to tense, the Alpha had his arms around Stiles’ much smaller frame, squeezing him tight.

“Um, I take it you two already know each other,” the tall man who’d come in with Scott said, but Stiles wasn’t paying even a single ounce of attention to him.  He was too busy still being astounded, because _Scott McCall_ was _hugging him_.

“I tried to find you!” Scott said, his voice sounding thick.  “After your dad- I just lost track, and I think you got a new email address or something, and I couldn’t find you!  I tried looking you up in the San Jose phone book, I googled you, everything!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Stiles babbled.  His eyes were stinging already, and _goddammit I will not cry_.  “I moved around so much for a while, when I was with foster families, and I meant to send you a letter or something, but I just, I’m sorry Scottie, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to!  I’m so sorry.”  

Scott finally pulled back from the hug, though he kept his hands on Stiles’ shoulders.  He peered at the sub’s face, and Stiles looked down, not wanting to meet his eyes.  “Where were you?  I kept thinking you would come back, once you turned eighteen.  I mean, I hoped you would.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles repeated.  “I’m sorry, I had a dom, and he.. we moved to San Diego.  But I didn’t-” He looked up at Scott, shock and confusion and sadness and grief all swirling inside him.  “I didn’t think you’d remember me.”

“What?”  Scott looked affronted.  “Dude, you were my _best friend_.  You thought I’d just forget you?  What the hell?”

Stiles looked down again, embarrassed, but also suddenly relieved and ecstatic, because it was _Scott_!  He remembered him, and he was happy to see him, and Stiles just felt like crying, he was so happy.

“I’ve never felt like the third wheel in my own marriage before,” the third werewolf spoke up again in a stage whisper to Derek, who was still staring at Stiles and Scott with his jaw hanging slightly open.  

Scott finally tore his eyes away from Stiles to look at the lanky blond werewolf.  He gave a quick, breathy laugh, looking between Stiles and the other two men standing there watching.  “Sorry babe,” Scott said.  He reached one hand out to the blond, the other one staying on Stiles’ shoulder.  The blond was next to Scott in an instant, his arm slipped around Scott’s waist.  “Stiles, this is Isaac, my sub,” Scott said.  Now that Stiles was looking at anything besides Scott again, he could see the thin leather collar settled comfortably around Isaac’s throat.  Scott looked over at his sub.  “Stiles was my best friend when we were kids.  We were inseparable.  I’m pretty sure we spent more time together than we did apart.”

Stiles laughed.  “Your mom got so sick of me.”

Scott looked back at him again.  “She’s going to be thrilled you’re back.”  Stiles looked a little doubtful, prompting Scott to roll his eyes and deadpan, “Yes, Stiles, she remembers you.”

“When did you move away?” Isaac asked, looking curious.

“I was twelve,” Stiles answered.  “But we used to talk all the time, even when I was in San Jose.  And it wasn’t that far, so we’d visit each other, when we could convince someone to drive us.  But then when I was sixteen, um, my dad died.  And, um, we kind of lost track of each other.”

Suddenly Stiles realized that Derek was at his side, and he wasn’t sure when that had happened.  Derek laid a hand lightly on Stiles’ back.  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, and Isaac echoed the sentiment.

Stiles just shrugged.  “It was a long time ago.”  He looked back at Scott, and couldn’t help but smile again.  “I just can’t believe you’re here, talking to me.”

“How long have you been back in Beacon Hills?” Scott asked excitedly.

Stiles looked sheepish.  “Um, almost a year?”

“Dude!” Scott exclaimed, shoving Stiles’ shoulder.  “A year?  And you didn’t bother looking me up?”

Stiles didn’t want to say that he had been too nervous to try.  He didn’t want to risk the disappointment of finding Scott and it not being the same as it was before.  Stiles had changed a lot since then.  He didn’t want to find out that Scott didn’t want to be his friend anymore.  “I’m sorry,” he murmured, ducking his head reflexively.

“Maybe we should sit down?” Isaac suggested.  “Seems like you guys have a lot to talk about.”  He hesitated for a second, looking at his dom.  “Do you want me and Derek to take a walk?”

Scott shook his head.  “No, babe, you can stay.”  He leaned over to press a kiss to the corner of Isaac’s mouth.  “Thank you, though.”  

That brief interaction, the casual deference to Scott, reminded Stiles of why Scott had come to the loft in the first place.  He was Derek’s Alpha.  Since when was Scott even a werewolf?  No, that question could wait.  For right now, Stiles needed to try to be a little more respectful.  The surprise had meant that no one was really thinking about manners, but that wouldn’t last forever.  Scott had been his best friend, yeah, but that was a long time ago, before they even really knew what their dynamics were.  Now, Scott was a dom and an Alpha.  Things were different.

Stiles followed the three werewolves to the couch and hesitated a moment, wondering if he ought to be offering to go get drinks or something.  He decided not to, seeing as this wasn’t actually his house, and sat down.  Scott was talking.  “When you told me you had a sub on your couch last night, you didn’t tell me it was Stiles!”

Derek still seemed unnerved by the whole situation.  “You know,” he said mildly, “when I run bring home a sub I’ve never met before because he’s dropping alone in a grocery store parking lot, my first thought isn’t ‘I wonder if he’s the long lost best friend of my Alpha,’ Scott.”

Scott laughed, but Stiles felt his face heating up.  Derek had already told Scott about him?  What had he said?  Stiles couldn’t think of a version of what Derek would have said that wasn’t mortifying.  Scott had stopped laughing and was watching Stiles, both curious and sad, which Stiles hated.  He didn’t want to have to explain why he was alone, no friends and no dom, living in a crappy apartment and dropping over freaking peanut butter.  So before anyone could ask him about it, and before he could think better of the idea, he opened his mouth and blurted the first thing that came to mind.  “I would have noticed if you sprouted fur and claws every full moon.”  Scott looked startled, and Derek’s eyebrows were doing a weird sort of scrunchy motion that Stiles was  pretty sure meant that the dom had no idea what Stiles was talking about.  He backtracked quickly, looking down slightly and trying to sound a little more respectful.  “When we were kids, I mean.  I would have noticed if you were a werewolf, sir.”

Understanding dawned on Scott’s face, and he nodded.  “I wasn’t.  I was bitten when I was sixteen.”  Then he frowned.  “Stiles, you don’t have to call me sir,” he said softly.  “I’m not your dom, and you’ve known me since you were four.  I’m just Scott.”

Stiles’ eyes flicked up to Scott and then to Derek before ending up on the floor again.  “You’re an Alpha now,” he said quietly.

Scott didn’t look like he understood.  “But I’m still just Scott,” he repeated, like that should explain everything.  And in some ways, it did.  Scott had always been the least pretentious, least egotistical person Stiles had ever known.  It felt weird not to be cautious around a dom, especially an Alpha, but maybe he didn’t have to be so careful around Scott.  It would be nice, Stiles thought, just to relax, like they used to.  He’d never had to watch his mouth around Scott as a kid.  He’d always felt like Scott just unconsciously gave people permission to be themselves around him, just by being so accepting.  Stiles looked back up at Scott, wondering if they could ever get back to that relationship.  He didn’t know, but he wanted to try.  He nodded.

That seemed to satisfy Scott, and he went on to explain how he’d been turned.  “There was a rogue Alpha,” he said with a glance to Derek, who looked unhappy about the idea.  “He’d gone a little, well…”

“Batshit insane?” Isaac offered.

“Isaac,” Scott scolded with a pointed glance toward Derek, and the sub lifted his hands in surrender.

“He was murdering people, Scott,” Derek said without looking up.  Stiles was staring at him, wondering why he seemed to be more upset about this than the other two.  He didn’t know how to ask, though.

“Anyway,” Scott continued, turning back to Stiles.  “He bit me without consent.”  Stiles’ eyes widened, because he may not know much about werewolf culture, but even he knew that was about the biggest no-no there was.  Scott shrugged.  “Sucked at first, but hey, it cured my asthma.  And Derek helped me learn to control it.  And then we managed to help the police catch him.  He’s in a psychiatric facility now.”

Stiles blinked.  “Wait, you didn’t kill him?  How are you an Alpha?  Isn’t that the way it works?”

Scott nodded.  “Normally, yeah.  But, um, I’m not really normal, I guess.  I’m a True Alpha.”

Stiles’ expression eloquently conveyed his question of ‘The hell is that?’ and Isaac interjected again.  “It means he was too awesome to be a beta, so he became an Alpha by default.”  

Scott rolled his eyes.  “It means I became an Alpha on my own, without taking the power from anyone.”

“It’s extremely rare,” Derek said.  

Stiles couldn’t help it.  He was a little starstruck.  His own best friend was a super fancy awesome Alpha who was like the Secretariat of Alphas or something.   _Dude._  Scott looked distinctly embarrassed and changed the subject.

After that, Scott started asking questions about the last ten years that Stiles really didn’t want to answer, but he asked them with such an air or innocent curiosity and excitement that Stiles had to say something. But he hated the way Scott's enthusiasm dimmed as he found out that no, Stiles hadn't gone to college, he hadn't become a detective like he always said he would, he hadn't done a thousand things they'd talked about as kids.  He just wanted to go hide.

Stiles figured that Scott could sense his distress, because he quickly stopped asking him questions and started telling him about his pack instead. Apparently it wasn't just werewolves. There was a kitsune, too, which Stiles had never even heard of, and it turned out that Lydia, on whom Stiles had had the biggest crush it was possible for a twelve year old to have, was a banshee. It almost made Stiles want to tell Scott that he'd discovered he was a Spark, just so that he would have something interesting to share. But they already saw him as the pathetic friendless sub who dropped in parking lots because he had no dom. He didn’t really want to add 'freak' to that list. Some quiet, rational part of his brain told him that he was talking to three werewolves, so surely freak was a relative term. But it wasn't strong enough to overpower years of hiding his Spark from everyone.  

There was at least one good thing about the conversation, though, other than the fact that Stiles genuinely enjoyed hearing about Scott's pack. Derek, it seemed, had sensed Stiles anxiety too. At first he frowned at Stiles for a bit, as though trying to figure him out. But then he shifted towards Stiles so that their thighs were touching, and a bit later he set a hand gently on Stiles' knee. Stiles took that as permission to lean into him a little, and it helped. A lot. Stiles felt like it was easier to breathe when he was leaning on Derek. It felt less like he was lost, which is how he'd felt all too often in the last year. Derek's presence grounded him, reminded him that he was safe, he was with friends, he didn't need to be on his guard.

Slowly but surely, Stiles started to relax.  Scott kept telling him stories of everything he’d missed in Beacon Hills, where all their friends were, and on and on.  Isaac interrupted regularly to insert his own version of the stories, especially when he thought Scott was leaving out something about himself.  Stiles loved it.  He didn’t want it ever to end.  As they went on, he asked more and more questions, and laughed more openly at the stories, which only encouraged Scott and Isaac to tell more and more ridiculous versions of their past adventures.  And while Derek didn’t say very much during this whole process, only interjecting when necessary, Stiles could feel the tension in the dom’s posture dissipate as the conversation wore on.  Derek was mostly just watching Stiles, even though Scott and Isaac were the ones talking, and Stiles found that it didn’t unnerve him like he thought it would.  Maybe it was because he didn’t feel like Derek was scrutinizing him.  The werewolf was just watching with a soft smile on his face.  Stiles wasn’t totally sure what he had done, but the notion that he’d made Derek happy ignited a warm, pleasant feeling in his chest.  Stiles couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this happy.  He decided right then and there, sitting on that couch, that he was never leaving.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about being slow with this update! I'm sure most of you understand, finals and all, plus I got sick. (Actually I'm out of school, but I'm a tutor, so finals season = Karen tutors ALL THE KIDS. I was so busy.) Anyway, it's here now! Also, I may or may not have a Christmas Special in the works for this story. It's set about six months later and is a one-shot, so I won't post it as a part of this, but maybe I'll make them part of a series? Idk how that all works. I'll figure it out.

It was kind of amazing, watching Stiles slowly relax as Scott and Isaac’s presence brought him out of his shell.  Derek hadn’t realized how much of his personality Stiles was keeping hidden.  As Scott and Isaac shared story after story, Stiles started cracking jokes and asking non sequitur questions, his gestures got bigger and less controlled.  Derek wondered if Stiles would start to lose his tension like this when it was just the two of them, or if this was a side of him reserved for Scott.  Derek hoped that wasn’t the case.

In a lull in the conversation, Stiles glanced towards the windows where the sun was starting to sink behind the buildings.  “Oh wow, I lost track of time,” the sub said.  “I really need to go start on dinner.”

“You don’t have to,” Derek said quickly.  “We can just order takeout.”  He couldn’t help but worry that whatever was affecting Stiles would vanish as soon as he got up, and Derek wanted to put that off as long as possible.

Stiles shook his head, though, and Derek wasn’t going to push him on it.  Giving him an order right now would likely destroy the easy, comfortable feeling of the moment too.  “I want to, sir,” Stiles said, and he sounded like he really meant it.  “If it’s okay, I mean.  I was going to make enchiladas.”  Derek nodded, and Stiles gave him a small smile as he pushed himself off of the couch and headed toward the kitchen.  Derek watched him go, happy that his scent had worked its way into the couch enough that Derek could still smell him.  

When Derek turned back to look at Scott and Isaac, Scott was watching Stiles disappear into the kitchen with a pensive look on his face.  Isaac, on the other hand, was looking at Derek with a barely concealed grin.  Derek raised an eyebrow at the sub, who just shot him a cheeky smile but didn’t say anything.  A second later Scott turned back to the other two werewolves.  “I still can’t believe you found him,” he said to Derek.

“It’s not like I was looking for him,” Derek said, shaking his head.

Abruptly, Scott turned to Isaac.  “Why don’t you go help Stiles with dinner?”

Isaac raised an eyebrow.  “By ‘help’ I assume you mean ‘try not to thwart’ because we both know he’s probably better off if I just don’t touch anything.”

“I need to talk to Derek, pup,” Scott said, though he looked mildly entertained by Isaac.  “Just go keep him company and try not to ruin dinner too much.”

Isaac glanced over at Derek, clearly curious, but he didn’t hesitate much.  “Yes, sir,” he agreed before leaning in to steal a quick kiss from his dom and then getting up and making his way into the kitchen.

Scott took a slow breath, seeming to collect himself, and Derek waited for him to speak.  “I know you’re going to tell me I shouldn’t say this, because it was more or less a lucky accident,” Scott said finally, “but I want you to hear it anyway.  Thank you, Derek.  For finding him, and helping him.”  

Derek wanted to argue, as Scott had predicted, that he didn’t deserve the thanks, but Scott sounded so completely genuine that Derek found he couldn’t protest.  

“I never thought I’d see him again,” Scott continued, staring into the empty space between the two of them, eyes unfocused.  “And you brought him back.”  He looked up at Derek then, making eye contact.  “He may as well have been my brother,” he said, leaning towards Derek with his elbows on his knees, sounding insistent and a little urgent, like he was desperate to make Derek understand this.  Derek just nodded, listening intently.  “I mean, we were with each other through everything.  When things got bad at home, right before mom kicked my dad out, I would sneak out sometimes when I couldn’t listen to them anymore and I’d run over to his house, and Stiles would leave his window unlatched so I could get in at night.  And he’d hide me under his covers.  There’s no way in hell his dad didn’t know I was there, but that’s not the point.  He was always there for me.  And he’d get picked on and stuff in school because he was too smart for his own good and couldn’t seem to stop talking ever, and I was the one hiding in the library with him at recess because he couldn’t take it anymore.  And then when his mom got sick, he’d… sometimes he’d stay at my house for a while because his dad had to be at the hospital with his mom.  I was the only one there to take care of him when he dropped for the first time.  We were twelve, barely even beginning to discover our dynamics, and he was scared because his dad had to run his mom to the hospital all of the sudden, and he just.. he dropped so hard, and for a second I didn’t even know what was going on, because I’d never seen him do that before.  I mean, I’d seen him upset more times than I could count, but we were almost teenagers and our hormones were changing and suddenly his body was processing it differently.  So I took care of him.  And it wasn’t weird, Derek, it was so totally normal, even though I’d never helped someone through a drop before, because it was  Stiles .  And we were there for each other.  Always.  It was just the way the world worked.”

Scott fell into silence then, looking down at his hands where they hung between his knees.  Derek didn’t know what to say.  He’d never heard Scott voice any of that before.  He’d heard the Alpha mention a childhood best friend a few times, always in passing, but never like this.  Derek knew exactly what it was like to lose someone that close to you.  And even though Stiles hadn’t died but just left, he imagined that it didn’t feel all that much better to Scott, especially at the time.  Right now, Scott looked like Derek felt when he talked about Laura.

Scott looked up at Derek again after a moment, and he seemed a little less emotional, for which Derek was grateful.  “He left a couple months after his mom died.  His dad wanted to try to start over somewhere.  Stiles said that it was too hard for his dad to stay in the house where everything made him think of her.  They moved to San Jose, and it was okay for a little while.  Not great, because Stiles was having a really rough time and we couldn’t just leave our windows open for each other anymore, but..  I mean, we had Skype at least.  But then his dad…  did Stiles tell you what happened?”

Derek just shook his head.

“He got shot,” Scott said, looking down.  He swallowed heavily.  “Bigger city, more dangerous… he was a cop, and sometimes that meant running towards the danger.  And it got him killed.  Stiles got whisked off into the foster care system, and… I never found him.  Not until today.”

Derek stared at his Alpha, stunned.  He felt like he should say something, but nothing he could come up with seemed adequate.  

Abruptly, Scott was looking up at Derek again, and this time his eyes were fiercely determined.  Derek was a little surprised they weren’t glowing red.  “Take care of him,” Scott said in a quiet, authoritative voice that he only used when he was giving a command as an Alpha.  It was a soft voice, gentle, but full of complete confidence that he would be obeyed.

Derek instinctively tipped his head to side to bare his throat to Scott.  “I’m going to,” he replied simply.  

Scott nodded, appeased.  He knew Derek well enough by now to know that the man was as good as his word.  When Derek said he would do something, he’d make it happen.  

After a moment, Derek frowned and added, “If he lets me.”  Scott looked up at him, brow furrowed, and Derek continued.  “He’s… hesitant.  He pushes back whenever I offer to do something for him.  He gets nervous whenever he gets close to anything that could be perceived as a boundary.  I’m not going to force him into anything he doesn’t want.”

Scott nodded again, but he was smiling.  “He’ll let you,” he said confidently.

“You haven’t seen the way he freezes up sometimes,” Derek said, not as sure as Scott seemed to be.

“Maybe not,” Scott conceded, “but I saw the way he reacted to you the last couple of hours.  He leans into you when you get close.  He relaxes when you leave a hand on him.  He feels safe with you, Derek.”

The beta wanted to protest that Stiles’ reaction could have had far more to do with Scott’s presence than Derek’s proximity, but at the same time, he wanted to believe Scott.  He really, really did.

They fell into silence again as Derek thought about that, until Scott spoke up again a moment later.  “Has… has he told you anything about where he’s been?  I mean, he said he had a dom and they moved to San Diego, but…”  He trailed off with a vague gesture.

“Not much,” Derek said, shaking his head.  “He said his dom passed away almost a year ago, in a car accident.  Since then, he’s been living off what money he had left, trying to find a job.  He’s… had a hard time with that.”  Derek didn’t want to go into detail about what Stiles had told him in that regard.  It felt private.  “Other than that… I know that he didn’t go to college.  But that’s it, really.”

Scott was frowning, but it wasn’t directed at Derek.  “He just seems… really tense.  You know?”

Derek did know.  He knew very well.  “It’s usually worse,” he said flatly. 

The Alpha sighed and ran a hand through his hair.  “I just… he’s been in Beacon Hills for a year?  Without calling me?  Or, hell, just showing up at my house?  I mean, my mom still lives in the house I grew up in.  All he’d have had to do was knock on the door.  But he said he… he thought I wouldn’t remember him.”  Scott’s face scrunched together as he spoke, like the words left a bad taste in his mouth.  “Which is ridiculous.  That’s like suggesting he’s forgotten his mom.”  He looked up at Derek, like the older wolf would somehow have an answer.  “Why would he think that?  Why would he be that scared of me?   Me?  ..I don’t understand.”

As much as he wished he could explain everything, Derek didn’t understand it any better than Scott did.  “I don’t know,” he said quietly.  But he silently vowed that he would find out.  Whatever it was, Derek would figure it out, and he would fix it.  He would make sure Stiles was alright again.  No matter what it took.

Scott shook his head and sat back, thumping quietly into the couch cushions, and rubbed his hands roughly over his face.  “I should just be happy he’s here now,” he muttered.  A moment later he dropped his hands and stretched a bit so he was sprawled out over half the couch.  “There was actually something else I wanted to talk to you about, before I saw Stiles and got very, very distracted.”

Derek raised his eyebrows a little to show he was listening, and Scott went on to elaborate on the conversation they’d had on the phone the night before.  Apparently Liam had gone to check out the farms that were getting attacked and agreed that it looked like a chupacabra.  The problem was that it wasn’t just one.  Judging by the tracks, there were at least three of them.  That was strange.  Normally these things stuck further south for the warmer climates.  Getting one this far north was rare, but three was unheard of.  “Odd,” he commented.

“Yeah, that’s why I wanted to talk to you about it,” Scott said.  That didn’t surprise Derek in the least.  He was the only member of the McCall pack who was born rather than turned, which meant he had a breadth of experience the others didn’t, made even more prominent given that he was the oldest member of the pack by several years.  Most of them were in their early twenties, and Liam was barely nineteen. 

The two of them spent several more minutes debating their dilemma.  They agreed that the creatures had to be gotten rid of, and that with three of them, it would be too dangerous to send just one or two people after them.  The whole pack would have to go take them out together.  After some deliberation, they decided that it would happen tomorrow night, the night of the new moon.  The absence of the moon in the sky would mean that the werewolves weren’t at their peak strength, but the lack of light would be far worse for the chupacabras who relied almost entirely on sight and smell to hunt.  Sure, the monsters would smell the pack coming, but they wouldn’t be able to fight back much in the dark.

Derek was a little uncomfortable with the idea.  Not because he was worried about the chupacabras.  That sort of thing was something their pack did regularly.  It was their job.  They protected Beacon Hills from any kind of supernatural threat.  It was the reason that, as their Alpha, Scott was something of a public figure.  All of that was totally normal to Derek.  He was uncomfortable because he realized that he would have to leave Stiles alone for a while.  Only a few hours, sure, but Derek’s instincts as a dom were still pushing him to be careful with Stiles after the over-emotional couple of days he’d had, and his lupine instincts wanted him to take up a position between Stiles and the rest of the world and growl until everything that wanted to hurt the sub had slunk away.  

“He’ll be fine, Derek,” Scott said, and Derek looked up.  He hadn’t realized he’d been so transparent.  “It’ll only be a few hours.  He’s a grown man.  You don’t have to babysit him.”  Derek could tell that Scott wasn’t totally convinced that Stiles would be perfectly fine either.  Regardless, the Alpha was right.

A peel of laughter drifted out of the kitchen and both the doms looked up, identical soft smiles playing across their faces.  Apparently Stiles had said something funny, because Isaac was having trouble breathing, from the sounds of it.  Stiles’ laugh joined his a minute later.

“Crap,” Scott said, turning to Derek again.  His tone made it obvious that he was thrilled, despite his choice of words.  “They’re going to get along waaaaay too well, aren’t they?”

Derek just smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, thank you all for your lovely comments. You always say such nice things. I love you all! *blows kisses*
> 
> Secondly, a LOT of you are commenting about Stiles' past/when Derek (et al) are going to learn more about it. And, I mean, with good reason. I've been dropping some heavy hints, and then of course in this chapter Scott and Derek discussed it directly. All I am going to tell you right now is that you can rest assured, it WILL come out and it will be a Big Deal. Buuuuuut not yet. We're going to have a detour first. *evil laughter*
> 
> Well actually we're going to have more fluff for chapter ten first. THEN a detour. *resumes evil laughter*


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took so long. This chapter was rough. It was originally two chapters, which were fairly similar, and I ended up just paring them down into one chapter, and I kept hating it and rewriting it, so... yeah. I think the final product is pretty decent. Also... um... please don't kill me. That's all I'm gonna say. :P

Stiles let out a slow breath, leaning against the kitchen counter and closing his eyes for a moment.  So much had happened in the last two days, and it was a little hard to process.  He wasn’t sure what to feel.  Part of him urged caution, that getting his hopes up never ended well, that he had no reason to believe that the feeling of safety Derek gave him and the way Scott’s easy, joking manner relaxed him would last very long.  It felt amazing just sitting and talking with Derek and Scott and Isaac, but Stiles knew there was no promise of permanence.  Still, the part of Stiles that had wanted to hope that he was home again, and that he was safe, the part that remembered the way things had been between him and Scott when they were kids, was getting steadily harder to ignore.

A moment later, Stiles shook his head to clear it of those thoughts that kept running in circles and began to pull things out of the fridge.  He had a job to do, after all.   If he wanted things to keep going like this, he better start pulling his own weight.  At the sound of footsteps, he glanced up from where he was bent over, half inside the fridge in search of chicken breasts he knew were there _somewhere_.  He saw Isaac peer around the fridge door to flash him a smile, which Stiles returned.  “Need any help?” Isaac asked.  

Stiles shrugged.  “If you want to.  I can handle it myself, but it would probably go faster with two people.”  He found the chicken and emerged from the fridge to find a pan to cook it in.  

“Well, I can’t to anything more complicated than box-mix mac and cheese without lighting something on fire, but I can, uh, stir stuff for you or something?”  Stiles gave him an incredibly dubious look.  Isaac just smiled.  “I was banished to the kitchen, so I may as well.”

Stiles frowned.  The idea of sending the subs off to make dinner wasn’t strange to him, but if Isaac was really that useless in the kitchen, then clearly it wasn’t something that was normal for him.

“Scott wanted to talk to Derek for a bit,” Isaac elaborated, seeing Stiles’ expression, and Stiles wasn’t sure whether that made him more or less worried.  It seemed like an Alpha wanting to talk to one of his betas was probably totally normal, but Stiles wanted to squirm at the thought that they might be talking about him.  Still, it didn’t change what he needed to be doing right now, so he shrugged.

“Here,” he said, handing Isaac an onion and shooting him a quick smile.  “It’s hard to screw up chopping an onion.”

“You say that now…” Isaac answered, looking at the onion in his hand like it was dangerous.

Stiles rolled his eyes and took the onion back, trying not to laugh.  He quickly chopped off both ends, sliced the whole thing in half, and peeled off the outer layer to throw in the trash.  “There,” he said, gesturing towards the onion.  “Cut it into little pieces.  Literally the only way to screw this up is if you manage to cut yourself.”

Isaac grinned as he picked up the knife.  “Nah, I’d just heal.  It’d be fine.”

“You’d still get blood on the onion,” Stiles countered, starting to mirror Isaac’s grin.

“Good point,” the taller sub conceded.  Stiles started to assemble the ingredients for the sauce while the chicken cooked, and Isaac spoke up again.  “Actually, I wanted to talk to you anyway.”  Stiles glanced up at him, curious.  “I had a thought.  You know pretty much everything about Scott when he was a kid, right?  And I know basically everything about him now.”  His grin was now distinctly mischievous.  “I propose a trade.”

Stiles let out a quick laugh.  He couldn’t help it.  Isaac’s over-dramatic flair was too ridiculous to keep a straight face.  “A trade?” he repeated.  “Like, a story for a story?”

“Yeah!” Isaac said, nodding eagerly.  “I want to know what kind of shenanigans he got up to as a kid so I can use them against him at the opportune moment!”

That thought made Stiles a little uncomfortable.  “I don’t want to get you in trouble,” he said.

Isaac scoffed.  “Dude, I’m married to him.  I’ve seen him poop.  I’ve seen him drunk.  I’ve seen him when he’s been up for forty-eight hours straight and he can’t finish a complete sentence.  I could go on.  I don’t think there’s anything you can tell me that he’d be upset about me knowing.”

Stiles smiled at that, because that sounded like the Scott that he knew.  “Alright,” he agreed softly.  “You go first though.”

It wasn’t long before Stiles was snickering at Isaac’s rendition of The Time Scott Kept All His Mountain Dew Bottles From Finals Studying And Used Them To Build A Replica Colosseum.  Once Isaac got to the part where Scott went to sleep and he and Kira got a bunch of action figures and stuff and set up a gruesome gladiator battle in the Mountain Dewlosseum, complete with pictures of it all that he still had on his phone, Stiles was laughing his head off.  

    *    *    *    *    *

The next afternoon, despite Stiles’ protests that he’d be fine for one night alone, given that he’d survived an entire year on his own, Derek took Stiles with him when it was time for the pack to gather at Scott and Isaac’s house.  It seemed Scott shared Derek’s concerns and had decided that they would leave Isaac with Stiles, since Derek was a better fighter and tracker.  Stiles had declared that both doms were being ridiculously overprotective, but he was secretly a little grateful.  Derek had told him about the whole chupacabra issue, and he couldn’t help but be nervous about it.  The werewolf had assured him over and over that it wasn’t a big deal, and the pack did things like this regularly, and it was just a part of protecting their territory.  Still, there was a large part of Stiles that hated the idea of any of them going out to purposely find something dangerous.  So, maybe staying with Isaac while the rest of the pack took care of it would be a good thing.  It would keep his mind from spiraling from worry to panic.  Isaac, for his part, had declared that chupacabras were “creepy” and “gross” and was more than happy to skip it.

The bright side of this was that Stiles got to meet the rest of the pack, sans Lydia who was apparently out of town, though it wasn’t as if Stiles could ever have forgotten the strawberry-blonde goddess he’d adored in junior high.  Jackson was a familiar face too, but Stiles was introduced to Kira, a bubbly, cheerful sub who somehow managed to be thoroughly cute even while holding a katana, and Liam, another sub, who was all smiles even if he was a little quiet.  Then again, maybe he’d just given up getting a word in edgewise while Kira was there.  Stiles wasn’t entirely sure.  

After the last traces of the sunset disappeared below the horizon around eight, the pack seemed to be ready to leave.  Derek pulled Stiles away for a moment, looking at him with a serious expression.  Stiles just smiled at him.  “I’ll be fine, no dropping or anything, stop worrying,” he said teasingly.

“Listen to Isaac while I’m gone, okay?” Derek said, apparently not planning to listen to Stiles’ protests.  

“Yes, sir,” Stiles said with a nod.  He knew exactly what Derek was doing.  Giving Stiles a feeling of structure, flimsy though it may be, would help settle him.

“Time to go,” Scott called, and Derek gave Stiles one last penetrating look before following the rest of the pack out the door.

Stiles was standing there, watching the door close, when Isaac came up beside him.  “So, you and Derek, huh?” he said, smirking.

Stiles gave the taller sub a dubious look before heading for the couch, snagging a bag of cheesy popcorn on the way.  “You’re going to have to be a little more specific, dude.”

Isaac followed him to the couch, grinning.  “You know, sitting in a tree!”  Stiles just looked at him like he was speaking Russian.  “Oh come on!  K-I-S-S-I-N-G!  What, did you forget everything you learned in second grade?!”

Stiles rolled his eyes and chucked a piece of popcorn at Isaac.  Of course, Isaac, with his damnable werewolf reflexes, just caught it out of the air and popped it in his mouth, grinning.  “There’s no kissing!” Stiles said, glaring.  “And there isn’t going to be any kissing, okay?  He’s just helping me out.  ‘Cause he’s a nice guy or whatever.”

Isaac fixed him with a level stare, clearly not believing a word he was saying.  “What?!” Stiles protested.

“I’m not saying Derek _isn’t_ a nice guy,” Isaac said with a shrug.  “I mean, he _is_ the type to want to help someone out just because they need it.  But dude, I have eyes.  And Derek’s about as subtle as an anvil.  He was staring at you like you were the One Ring.”

“What?” Stiles said with a start.  “That’s ridiculous.  Although if Derek starts referring to my as ‘the precious’ I’ll be sure to let you know.  But it’s not going to happen.  And not just because that would be weird and creepy.  Derek and I aren’t going to happen.”

“Right,” Isaac said, wholly unconvinced.  “So you’re telling me you’re not into him?  That if he wanted to kiss you, you’d just be like ‘no thanks’?”

“Wha- that’s not- I didn’t say that I- stop putting words in my mouth!” Stiles spluttered, and Isaac just laughed.  “I never said that I wouldn’t- but that’s not the point!  The point is that it’s not going to happen.  Because I’m a total mess who looks like, well, this,” Stiles gestured at himself, too skinny and spastic and wearing worn clothes, “and he’s.. he’s Derek Freaking Hale!” He ended by flailing wordlessly in the direction that the pack had gone.

Isaac had been rolling his eyes at Stiles’ rant, but something of the sub’s frantic gesturing caught his eye.  “You don’t have a cuff,” he commented, surprised.

Stiles suddenly looked embarrassed and tugged at his sleeves so they covered his wrists again.  “Neither do you,” he said defensively.

“Well, yeah, I’ve got Scott’s collar,” Isaac said, hand coming up to touch the thin leather band around his neck.  “But you don’t have either.”

Stiles sighed.  Usually he could get away with just wearing long sleeves, and no one noticed, but occasionally someone commented on his lack of a sub cuff.  “It’s not like it’s illegal or anything,” he muttered, looking away.  Most unclaimed subs wore a cuff on their left wrist, but no one enforced it.  It was just a cultural norm, like wedding rings.

Isaac frowned.  “...I guess not.  Hey, I didn’t mean to make you mad.  I just noticed, that’s all.”

“Yeah, I know,” Stiles said, shrugging.  “It’s just, I don’t have one.  I sold my old collar, not that I got much for it, but… a cuff just seemed like something I didn’t really need, and I needed the money for other stuff, so.. yeah, I just don’t have one.”

“Oh,” Isaac said softly.  Then he brightened and looked up.  “I bet Derek would buy you one, if you want.”

Stiles shook his head quickly.  “Yeah, no, I’m not asking him to do yet another thing for me.  No way.”

Isaac laughed.  “Oh, come on!”

Stiles started throwing popcorn at him again, and Isaac effortlessly snatched them out of the air, laughing.  He was halfway to tossing a popcorn kernel in his mouth when, all at once, he stilled.  Stiles’ last piece of popcorn bounced off of his forehead, but he didn’t seem to notice.  His eyes were far away, unfocused.

“What?” Stiles asked, grin fading.

“Shh,” Isaac said quickly, not looking at him.  Slowly, the werewolf stood up, frowning.  He looked like he was listening for something.

“What is it?” Stiles asked again in a soft voice.

Isaac didn’t answer.  He cocked his head to the side, looking so canine as he did it that Stiles would have laughed if Isaac weren’t freaking him out a little.  Suddenly, his eyes widened.  Before Stiles could react, Isaac had grabbed him by the arm and was dragging him out of the room.

“Dude!  What’s going on?” Stiles protested, bewildered.

“Quiet!” Isaac hissed.  He opened a door which revealed stairs down to the basement.  “I heard something, and I’m going to check it out, but you need to…”  He looked at Stiles, frowning in consternation.  “Just go downstairs, okay?  And be quiet.  And if you hear anything, hide.  And don’t come out until I come and get you.  Do you understand?”

Stiles gaped at him.  “What?  What did you hear?”

Before Isaac could answer, his head jerked up again, clearly hearing something Stiles couldn’t.  Stiles saw something in his face then, shocked and maybe even afraid, and he stopped arguing.  “Go!” Isaac hissed, and shut the door between them.

Stiles just stared at the door for a second, stunned. _What the hell?_  After a moment, he heard something.  It was small, but he recognized the tinkling of breaking glass.  His mouth dropped open and he hurried down the stairs.  Even if it was nothing… Derek had said to listen to Isaac.  So he was going to listen to Isaac.  He didn’t bother turning on the light in the basement, just feeling his way around so that he could hide, crouched under the stairs.  

A second later he heard a crash, so big Stiles felt like it shook the house.  It startled a gasp out of him, and his hand came up to clamp over his mouth.  It didn’t matter, though, because he could hear people shouting.  He couldn’t tell what they were saying, but they definitely weren’t Isaac.  Stiles stared upwards in the darkness, wishing he had any idea what was going on.

He heard Isaac snarl, a fully lupine noise, but it was the next sound that made Stiles start shaking.  Gunshots.  Stiles was the son of a small town sheriff, he’d handled guns before, he knew what they sounded like.  Isaac snarled again, and Stiles heard crashing and more shots and more shouting, and he couldn’t make heads or tails of any of it, except that someone was shooting, and Isaac didn’t sound happy about it.

And then it stopped.  Isaac wasn’t snarling.  No one was shooting.  Stiles froze, not even daring to breath.  Then he heard voices again, too muffled to make out what they were saying.  He could hear people moving around, there had to be at least three or four of them.

Eventually they stopped too.  

But Stiles couldn’t stop shaking.

He kept waiting for someone to come down into the basement, for Isaac to come and get him like he’d said, but… nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, I'm evil, I'm a horrible person, death threats galore. I feel you. I kind of hurt myself writing this. Please don't hate me. I promise I'll be faster this time and not make you wait like nearly a month after this cliffhanger. Pinky swear.
> 
> Just so you know (not that this really makes it better) this has been planned since chapter one. We're just now getting into the meat of the plot. I'm excited. :D
> 
> For those of you who want to know:  
> SPOILER SPOILER SPOILERIsaac's not deadSPOILER SPOILER SPOILER


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you I wouldn't make you wait so long! :D

Derek didn’t realize anything was wrong until he was getting out of his car in front of Scott’s house.  The thing with the chupacabras had gone smoothly, if a little gross.  They’d been gorging themselves on a cow when the pack found them.  It wasn’t pretty.  And neither were the chupacabras themselves, all reptilian with huge eyes and claws.  But the pack had taken care of them with relative ease and surprisingly little gore before heading back into town.  Lydia and Jackson had split off in their own car, taking Liam with them since his house was on the way.  Kira, Scott, and Derek had all piled into the Camaro to head back to the McCall house.

It took a second, once Derek had parked the car, to realize that anything was out of place.  But when he did, his head shot up, looking towards the house.  It was  silent .  He should have been able to hear Isaac and Stiles talking, or a TV, or something.  But there was nothing.  

Scott had clearly realized the same thing and was halfway to the door already, Derek hot on his heals.  “Guys?” Kira called, seeing their faces.  “Is something wrong?”  Neither of the doms bothered to answer her, and she followed them into the house. 

Scott froze in the doorway, eyes wide.  Derek had to push him out of the way so he could get inside, only to stop too, staring at the room in shock.  There was glass on the floor, clearly from the windows on the back of the house, several of which were broken.  Things were knocked over, strewn about, and worst of all… Derek could see bullet holes in one of the walls.  “Oh my god…” whispered Kira, peering around him.

Without warning, Scott was in motion again.  “Isaac?” he called out, making his way through the house, checking rooms.  “Stiles?  Isaac?  Where are you?”

Derek moved into the house, trying to listen for any sound of the subs.  This couldn’t be happening.  They’d left the two of them alone for two hours, tops.  This shouldn’t have happened!  He’d promised Stiles he’d take care of him!  Derek sniffed the air carefully, but all he could smell was gunshot residue.  “Isaac!” Scott shouted, sprinting upstairs to search there.  Derek closed his eyes for a moment, listening.  At first all he could hear was Scott’s frantic searching.  Then Kira’s heartbeat.  And then another.  His eyes shot open.

“Basement,” he said without thinking, moving towards the stairs and sprinting down them.  “Stiles? Isaac?” he called softly as he reached the bottom.  There was no reply other than a shaky breath and a rapid, frightened heartbeat.  Derek came around under the stairs slowly to find Stiles pressed into the corner, curled up into a ball with his knees in front of him and his face pressed down against them.  “Stiles,” Derek breathed, relief at finding him crashing with confusion and anger and guilt.  He crouched and moved next to the sub, setting a hand softly on Stiles’ arm.  Only then did Stiles look up, just peeking over his knees at Derek.  

“It’s okay, Stiles, you’re safe,” Derek murmured, moving closer to him.  Stiles lifted his head a little more, looking at Derek with wide eyes.  Derek moved so that he could slid his hand around to Stiles’ back.  “I’ve got you, Stiles it’s okay.”  Stiles leaned into Derek’s shoulder and let out a choked sob.

Just then, Scott appeared, racing down the stairs, followed by Kira.  Stiles’ looked up at the noise over his head, clearly frightened, and tried to shove himself further into the corner.

“Stiles?” Scott said, moving quickly to crouch next to Derek.  “Stiles, where’s Isaac?”

Stiles had tucked his face back into his knees and didn’t respond.  He didn’t even give a sign of having heard the question.

“Stiles!” Scott said sharply.  “I need to know what happened!”  

Stiles jerked at Scott’s tone and let out a whimper.  

“Scott, he’s in the middle of a drop,” Derek said, pulling Stiles towards him slightly.  “You can see that.”

“I don’t care!” Scott said fiercely, red bleeding into his eyes, and Derek glared up at the Alpha, shocked.  “I need to know where Isaac is, I  need to know  now! ”  Scott’s pulse had skyrocketed, Derek could hear it, and his breathing was quick and irregular.  

Stiles had started to make soft, sobbing sounds, and Derek couldn’t take it anymore.  “Scott, look at him!  He’s not going to be able to say a word until someone brings him back up from his drop!  You want answers? Then let me take care of him, and you’ll get them when he can form sentences again!”

Scott’s eyes were crimson now, and a growl started at the back of his throat, but then Kira had her hand on his shoulder, gently pulling him away.  “Scott, come on,” she said softly.  “Come on, let’s call the rest of the pack.  They’ll help, okay?  Come on, let’s go upstairs.”  Her voice was gentle, never demanding, and Scott turned to look up at her.  He took a slow breath and looked up at her.  Derek could see that his eyes were slightly unfocused.  The Alpha gave a nod and stood up on shaky legs, letting Kira pull him with her upstairs.

Stiles was shaking badly when Derek tugged him into his arms.  “I’ve got you,” he murmured to the sub.  “You’re safe, Stiles.”  

* * * * *

Derek moved Stiles to the spare bedroom, which had thankfully been spared from the wreckage in the rest of the house.  Stiles was still curled up as tightly as he could, and Derek just held, laying on the bed with Stiles tucked into his side, his face buried in Derek’s shoulder.

Derek could hear Lydia and Jackson and Liam show up, but no one disturbed him and Stiles.  A little bit later Derek heard police arrive, too, and he hoped that Stiles couldn’t really hear any of the commotion outside the room.  The last thing Derek wanted right now was for police to start trying to question Stiles.  Thankfully, though, he heard Kira explaining to an officer that Stiles was in the middle of a bad drop, and the officer seemed to understand, saying that they’d get a statement from him when he was ready.

Derek waited an hour.  He knew that Stiles really needed three or four to recover from something like this, but Isaac might not have that kind of time.  They needed to know what happened.  He shifted Stiles a little, hoping to get him to uncurl and look up.  “Stiles,” he murmured.  “I need you to come back to me.  I need to talk to you.”  Stiles responded, but only to turn his head and bury it more fully in Derek’s shoulder, making his feelings on talking clear.

“I know,” Derek murmured.  “I know it’s hard, but it’s important.  We need to know what happened to Isaac.”  Stiles stilled, not even breathing, and Derek tightened his grasp on the sub.  “It’s okay, you’re okay, I’ve got you. I’m not going to let go.  I just need you to tell me and Scott what happened.”

For a moment, Stiles didn’t react.  Then he nodded against Derek’s shoulder.  “Okay,” Derek murmured.  “Good boy.  Can you look up?”  He shifted Stiles a little so that he was sitting up more, and Stiles hesitantly peeked up at Derek.  “Good boy,” Derek praised again.  “I need you to talk to me, can you do that?”

At first Stiles looked down, and Derek wondered if he was still too far down in the drop to manage words.  But then Stiles got out a shaky “Y-yes, sir,” and Derek nodded, rubbing his hand over Stiles’ back.  “Okay.  You’re doing really well, Stiles.”  With Stiles still halfway in a drop, Derek had to be careful with him.  If Stiles started to think, even for a second, that he wasn’t safe or that Derek was upset with him, he would probably crash even harder.  

Derek pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to Scott.  A few moments later, Scott walked into the room, followed by a police officer who had a notepad and pen.  The officer stayed near the door and gave Derek a nod, but didn’t say anything.  Scott, who looked a lot better than he had an hour ago, walked over to the two of them and sat down on the edge of the bed.  “Stiles?” he asked gently.

Stiles looked up at him with wide eyes.  “I-I’m sorry,” he stammered immediately.

Scott shook his head and brought his hand up to rub up and down Stiles’ arm.  “Just tell me what happened, Stiles.”

Stiles turned his face back into Derek’s chest.  “You’re okay,” Derek murmured to him.  “You’re safe.  It’s just me and Scott.  You can tell us what happened.”

Stiles nodded shakily and turned towards Scott a little but didn’t look up.  “He heard something,” Stiles whispered.  “And he, um… s-said to go to the basement and… and hide, and I… There were people… They were shouting, but I- I don’t know what they were saying, and Isaac was growling, and there were gunshots…”  Stiles curled tighter into Derek’s chest, his eyes screwed shut.  “And then it was quiet, and I waited, Isaac said to wait, but he didn’t come, and I- I didn’t know what to do.”  

“You did the right thing,” Derek said softly.  “You were good, Stiles.”

“Do you remember anything else?” Scott asked.  “Anything about the people, what they said, what they did?”

Stiles shook his head.  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I don’t know, it was so fast, I’m sorry…”

“Shh,” Derek murmured.  “It’s okay, Stiles.”

Scott moved his hand up to run through Stiles’ hair.  “Thanks for trying, buddy,” he said quietly.  Then he stood and left, the officer following him silently.  

* * * * *

Derek checked with the pack to see if there was any way he could help with the search for Isaac, but even Scott agreed that Derek should go home and take care of Stiles.  If they needed him, or if there were any updates, they promised to call.

Stiles didn’t say anything else as Derek carried him to the Camaro and drove back to the loft.  By the time they got back to the loft, Stiles was still shaky, but he could stand on his own, and he insisted on walking up to Derek’s apartment himself.  Stiles’ scent kept shifting, and it was hard for Derek to pin down.  There was fear, shock, exhaustion, embarrassment…  Derek wasn’t sure what to do.

As they walked into the loft, Derek laid a soft hand on the small of Stiles’ back.  “You should probably just go to sleep,” he murmured. 

Stiles nodded and started toward the couch.

“No,” Derek said, following him, and Stiles turned to look up at him, confused.

“Come on,” Derek said holding a hand out to Stiles.  “You’re not sleeping alone tonight.  You’re still way too close to dropping.  You’re going to come sleep upstairs with me.”

Stiles hesitated for a moment, clearly a little surprised, but then walked over to Derek’s outstretched hand obediently.  Derek led him up the spiral staircase in the corner of the loft to the second floor, which had only Derek’s bedroom, his office, and the master bathroom.  Stiles looked like he was about to pass out, so Derek helped him out of his shoes and jeans.  Then, after a second of deliberation, he pulled Stiles’ t-shirt off too, because it stank of fear, and Derek was having trouble suppressing the urge to have Stiles smell like him.  He knew that Stiles wouldn’t really notice the difference the way a wolf would, but Derek pulled out a soft, clean t-shirt and helped Stiles into it anyway.  

Once he’d gotten his own jeans off, Derek took his time getting the two of them settled.  Stiles seemed uncomfortable in Derek’s bed until Derek pulled him close, cradling the sub against his side like they had earlier.  Then Stiles finally relaxed.  He buried his face in Derek’s chest and let out a long, shuddering breath.  Derek started to feel hot tears soak through his shirt, and he wrapped his arms around Stiles.  “I’ve got you, you’re safe,” he murmured to the sub.  Stiles nodded jerkily, but the tears didn’t stop until his breathing and heart rate evened out and Derek knew he was asleep.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yes, I am well aware that none of your burning questions about Isaac have been answered. But, well, that's the problem with writing the story from Stiles' and Derek's points of view. I can't just jump over to Isaac and check in with him. So... sorry? It's coming. I promise.


	12. Chapter 12

When Stiles woke up, his first thought was that he didn’t know where he was.  He froze, halfway to panic by the time he’d opened his eyes, before remembering that this was Derek’s bed, in Derek’s loft, and he was safe.

He rolled over, hoping to go back to sleep, maybe a little less fitful this time.  But as he moved, he realized that he was alone.  He’d fallen asleep in Derek’s arms, but now the werewolf was nowhere to be seen.  His side of the bed wasn’t even warm.  Stiles pushed himself to sit up and rubbed roughly at his eyes.  A ball of worry and fear was forming quickly in his stomach.  The glowing red of Derek’s alarm clock told him that it was barely three in the morning.  Stiles pushed the covers away despite the comparatively cold air and climbed out of bed.  He knew he wasn’t going to be able to fall back asleep like this.

For a second, Stiles stood still and listened, but he didn’t hear anything.  Then he glanced around, as though to make sure no one was watching, despite the empty room, and closed his eyes.  He took a slow breath and then exhaled, extending his senses with it, allowing the Spark to come out of that locked closet in the back of his mind where he normally hid it away.  The more he focused on it, the more he was able to feel, like currents of energy flowing through the space around him.  It didn’t take long to find Derek, like a bright, hot ember glowing in the darkness.  Stiles followed the sensation out of the bedroom and down the hall to an open door.  

He paused in the doorway, looking in at the room.  Derek was sitting at a desk facing away from the door, a laptop open in front of him.  Stiles couldn’t see what he was doing, the computer was blocked by Derek’s body, but Derek seemed to be intently focused on it.  When the dom didn’t look up, Stiles padded softly into the room towards him, intensely relieved that Derek was still there.

Derek was scowling at the computer screen and didn’t seem to notice Stiles’ presence until the sub was almost to him.  He looked up, blinking at Stiles.  Without even thinking about it or consciously making a decision to do so, Stiles slid smoothly to his knees next to Derek, resting back on his heels.  He hesitated for a moment, and then leaned forward to rest his head on Derek’s thigh.  

For a second, Stiles worried that the unasked for gesture of submission was unwanted, but he couldn’t convince himself to get up, because he felt so much better there leaning on Derek, like everything was finally calm.  But then Derek’s fingers threaded gently through his hair and he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.  He melted against Derek’s warm, reassuring bulk.

“I thought you were asleep,” Derek said softly, and Stiles turned his head so he could look up at Derek while still leaving his cheek on the dom’s thigh.  

“I was,” the sub murmured.  “Woke up, didn’t know where you were.”

Derek winced a little.  “Sorry,” he said, rubbing his fingertips against Stiles’ scalp as though to punctuate the word.  “I didn’t think you would wake up.  Scott sent me footage from a traffic camera just a little bit down the road from his house in the hopes that I somehow miraculously see Isaac.”  He scrubbed his free hand over his face.  “It’s a long shot, but it’s still a shot.”

Stiles frowned, thinking.  “How did Scott get the traffic cam footage?” he asked after a moment.

“Sheriff Parrish got it,” Derek said with a shrug.  “There were cops there before we left, but I don’t think you were aware enough to notice them.  Scott’s job as the local Alpha means that he works pretty closely with Parrish a lot.  The two of them are on good terms, and because it’s a pack matter, Parrish is letting us work with his officers.  Hence, sharing of evidence.  Well, potential evidence.  God I hope I see something.”  He was still running his fingers through Stiles hair, but he’d gone back to looking at the computer screen.  “I’m going to be here awhile.  You should go back to sleep if you can.”

“Is it okay if I stay here for a little bit, sir?” Stiles asked quietly, and Derek looked down at him.  “I like kneeling for you,” Stiles added, feeling sheepish.  “It’s calming.”

Derek nodded.  “Of course you can stay.  As long as you want.”  His fingers drifted down to Stiles’ neck and gave it a gentle squeeze.  Stiles let out a long sigh and closed his eyes, soaking up the feeling of safety.

 

*    *    *    *    *

 

When Stiles woke up next, the bed was empty again.  He vaguely remembered falling asleep leaning against Derek’s leg, and then waking up as the Dom carried him back to bed.  Stiles had whined at the thought of being left alone, something which was now rather mortifying, but it had gotten Derek to cuddle him until he fell asleep again.  Now it was late enough that there was light coming in the windows, and the werewolf was once again nowhere to be seen.  

Since it had worked in the middle of the night, Stiles closed his eyes and sent his senses questing for the warm, steady energy that was Derek’s presence.  He found him quickly, downstairs, but to Stiles’ surprise, Derek wasn’t alone.  Stiles could tell that the other was a werewolf, but he couldn’t be sure of who.

Curious, and also hungry, and still not too pleased about being alone, Stiles got out of bed and pulled a pair of pants on before heading cautiously down the stairs.  Derek was standing near the door, his arms crossed and his brow furrowed.  The person he was talking to had his back to Stiles, but Stiles could still tell that it was Scott.  The sub started to walk over to the wolves hesitantly, not wanting to interrupt, but in desperate need of Derek to ground him.  He still felt shaky.

Derek and Scott both looked up at Stiles before he’d made it halfway across the room.  Derek motioned with his head that he should join them, and Stiles was next to them in an instant.  “Have you found him?” he asked Scott immediately.  He could tell from the Alpha’s face what the answer was.  Scott just shook his head.

“The police are still searching,” Derek said softly as his hand moved to rest on the small of Stiles’ back.  Stiles tried to resist the urge to just melt into Derek’s side and wrap his arms around the wolf’s waist.   _It’s just the drop_ , he told himself.   _I’m just clingy because I’m still off kilter_.

Derek continued.  “The pack is doing everything we can, but… we don’t know who took him.”

Stiles looked down.  “Sorry,” he murmured.

“Sorry?” Scott echoed.  “Stiles…”

“I should have at least paid more attention, instead of just hiding and wishing they would go away.  Then maybe I could tell you something helpful.”

Derek’s hand on his back moved up to his shoulder and gripped it firmly.  “Stop, Stiles,” he said quietly.  “Just stop.”

Scott took a slow breath, rubbing a hand over his face.  “Don’t try to blame yourself, Stiles, please.  You told us everything you know.  That’s all you can do.”  Stiles looked up at Scott, and he couldn’t help but notice the grey smudges under his eyes.  He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week, not just one night.  Stiles bit his lip and looked back down again.

“Did Parrish say how long until DNA results get back?” Derek asked, looking at Scott again.

“He isn’t sure, but that kind of thing takes time.  Days, at least.”  Scott sounded miserable as he said it.

Stiles was frowning.  DNA tests meant they had found something of the kidnappers.  Hair, blood, something along those lines… “I can find him,” he said softly.

The two doms froze, staring at Stiles.  A second later, Scott spoke.  “Stiles… what did you just say?”

Stiles glanced hesitantly between the two of them.  “I… well, maybe I shouldn’t go that far, but if I could have whatever it is they’re using for DNA, I can figure out who it belongs to.  Probably.”  He’d only used his Spark to do something like this once before, and it had worked then, but he was never very confident about his supernatural abilities.

“Stiles,” Derek said slowly.  “Explain.”  Both he and Scott were staring at the sub like he’d grown an extra head.

“Um, well,” Stiles started to wring his hands together.  He hadn’t thought this through.  It had just come out.  But of course, now he had to go through with it.  “I, um…”  He took a deep breath and then closed his eyes, not wanting to look at either of the others when he said it.  “I have a Spark.  I-I’m not that powerful, and I almost never use it,”   _Well, twice already today alone, but that’s not normal._  “But I… there’s this spell.  I mean, spell is a bad word for it.  But if I have a piece of someone, like a hair or something, I can focus on it and then figure out who it belongs to.”

Derek’s eyebrows had gone up, his eyes wide.  “You… you’re a Spark?”  Stiles grimaced.  Of course.  Derek thought he was a freak.  Goodbye dom, goodbye friends.  He shouldn’t have opened his mouth.

A second later, Scott spoke up.  “It was blood.  Isaac must have gotten a piece of one of the attackers, there was blood on the floor of the kitchen.  Not a lot, though.  Will that work?”

Stiles nodded.  “I- I think.  I’ve only done this once before, it was a hair, and it belonged to someone I already knew, so… I mean, I just get an image of them in my head.”

Scott nodded once, already halfway to the door.  “An image is better than nothing.  I’ll bring you a sample.”  And with that Scott was gone, leaving just Derek, staring at Stiles like he was a mystery, and Stiles fidgeting and looking anywhere but at the dom.  

“You’re a Spark,” Derek repeated after a moment, still watching Stiles intently.

“Yes, sir,” Stiles whispered, because he didn’t know what else to say.  “B-but I don’t use it!” he added, looking up at Derek.  “Ever!  Or, well, not usually.  Sometimes.  But- but only like to find people or, I mean, I never do big stuff with it, or anything that could hurt someone, I swear, I only ever-”

“Stiles,” Derek interrupted firmly, and the sub fell silent, biting his lip hard and looking down.  Derek moved toward Stiles slightly and laid a hand on his arm near the shoulder.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”  His voice sounded curious, not accusing.

“I never tell anyone,” Stiles mumbled, still not looking up.  “Easier if no one knows.  It’s better if people just don’t really notice me, and that’s easier if they think I’m normal.”  He had never even told his previous dom about his spark, not in the entire time they’d been together.  Stiles learned to be a master of flying under the radar a long time ago.

“But you think you can find Isaac?” Derek repeated, a distinct note of hope in his voice, and suddenly Stiles was afraid.  He didn’t want to disappoint Derek.  He really didn’t.

“I think I can figure out whose blood was left in Scott’s kitchen,” Stiles said, glancing up at Derek.  “There’s a difference.”  

Derek was staring at Stiles, and the sub tried not to squirm.  The wolf seemed fascinated and bewildered, and it made Stiles supremely uncomfortable.  “...What?” he asked eventually.

“You,” Derek said, as though that should explain everything.  “I’m surprised, but… somehow I feel like I shouldn’t be.”

Stiles’ forehead crinkled at that, because he had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but he didn’t feel like pressing for more information.  To be honest, he just wanted to pretend he’d never said anything about his Spark, at least until Scott got back.  “I’m, uh, gonna go get some breakfast, if that’s okay, sir,” Stiles said, and then at a nod from Derek, he hurried to disappear into the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huh, I usually have a ton of stuff to say when I post, but nothing's coming to me... Except to mention that you guys are all great, I love getting your comments so much, and I love seeing that I have such loyal readers. Thank you so much, guys.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo.... I disappeared for a while. Sorry. I just caught up in life (it didn't help that I got a new job and was very busy) and this got put on the back burner for a while. But at no point did I think I wouldn't finish it. I've got some more time now, and I'm going to work on this some more. I'm really really sorry I left you all hanging for so long, and if you're still here and reading this, thank you so much. I've always gotten such a wonderful response to this story, and I'm so grateful to all of you for reading my stuff.
> 
> Oh, and before I get started, a bit of a warning for gore in this chapter. It's not much, but it's certainly more than anything in previous chapters, so I thought I'd mention it.

Stiles was nervous, and Derek didn’t know what to do about it.  He’d barely said anything since their conversation several hours ago, but he kept casting furtive glances at Derek when he thought the werewolf wasn’t looking.  Derek didn’t really understand what was going on in Stiles’ head.  It was understandable that the sub would be anxious about trying to use his Spark to find Isaac, but from the way he was avoiding Derek’s eyes and studiously keeping his distance from the wolf, Derek was becoming more and more sure that Stiles was uneasy about  him .  And for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why.  All he could think was that it had something to do with Stiles’ revelation about his Spark, but he didn’t know why that would change anything between them.  He also didn’t know why Stiles had bothered to hide it in the first place, although that could easily be explained away.  They’d only actually known each other for a few days at this point.  Perhaps it simply hadn’t come up before now.  But still, Derek was left wondering why talking about it had agitated Stiles so much, and why he was acting so distant now.

Scott had returned with several Q-tips in a plastic baggie, each with a smudge of blood on one end.  He’d stayed for a bit, asking Stiles how quickly this sort of thing would work, but when it became clear that Stiles wouldn’t have an answer immediately, Scott had left, giving instructions to call as soon as they had something solid.  

Stiles was sitting at the table surrounded by sheets of paper, holding one of the Q-tips in his left hand while trying to draw what he saw with the right.  He had explained, briefly, that he could really only get a picture of the person in his head.  If it was someone he knew already, it was easier, clearer.  For a stranger like this, he got pieces, fractions of images, the person’s face maybe, sometimes a place, sometimes little flashes that went by too fast for Stiles to even really figure them out.  What he didn’t get was a name, or an address, or a convenient little “we left Isaac here,” message.

Stiles had been working on it for over three hours at this point.  He had made dozens of sketches and half completed drawings, trying to get down what he could see, though by his own admission, he wasn’t much of an artist.  Derek had spent most of that time pouring over each new scrap Stiles produced, because there was something naggingly familiar about the man in them.  He just couldn’t place it.  He even called Sheriff Parrish at one point about the possibility of having Stiles describe the face he saw to a sketch artist, but it turned out that Beacon Hills didn’t  have a police sketch artist.  They’d have to have one come in from a bigger city, at which point they may as well just wait for the DNA analysis to come back.

Derek could tell that Stiles was getting exhausted.  He’d said that he almost never used his Spark, so it wasn’t surprising that this would be tiring for him.  It was obvious that he was pushing himself, from the way that his expression got more and more frustrated, and his attempts at drawing what he saw got more and more haphazard and unfinished.

Around one in the afternoon, when Stiles still hadn’t moved since sitting at the table nearly four hours earlier, Derek decided that if nothing else, he should get the boy something to eat.  He disappeared into the kitchen for ten minutes or so, making sandwiches and washing grapes.  When he returned, Stiles’ eyes were drooping closed, his mouth hanging open.  His hand was still holding the pencil, poised over the paper, but it was obvious that he was asleep.  

Derek set down the plates with a sigh.  “Stiles,” he called, moving to put a hand on the submissive’s shoulder and give him a tiny shake.  “Stiles, come on, you need to take a break.”

Stiles jerked, blinking up at Derek and then around at the scattered papers.  “Wha-? Oh, um, sorry, I was just…” he mumbled.

The dom started to push the papers into piles, moving them aside.  “You need to take a break,” he repeated.  “Eat some lunch.”

“Wait, no,” Stiles protested, starting to grab at the papers.  “No, I need those!  Wait, sir, don’t-”  

Derek shook his head.  “No, Stiles, you’re not going to get anywhere by falling asleep.”

“Derek, stop!” Stiles shouted, grabbing at the papers again, and Derek was so stunned by the outburst that he froze, letting Stiles pull the papers out of his grasp.  He blinked at the sub, but Stiles was already in motion, sorting frantically through the sketches.

“What are you looking for?” Derek asked, but Stiles ignored him.  He was pulling papers out of the stack, setting them next to each other, overlapping, and he kept twisting his head side to side as though trying to get a better angle to look at them.  “Stiles?” Derek probed more insistently.  

Then, as suddenly as Stiles’ whirlwind of frantic searching had started, the boy stilled.  “There,” he said, staring at the papers for a second before looking up at Derek with wide eyes.  “I found it.”

Derek looked between the papers and Stiles, not comprehending.  “Found what?”

“Where Isaac is!” Stiles exclaimed, gesturing wildly towards the drawings.  “Or at least, where this guy is.  Or maybe where he was, I don’t know, but it’s an address, look!”

Derek looked closer and finally saw what Stiles was seeing.  Numbers and letters that started on one page and continued on another, or seemed like part of a sketch until you turned them upside down or sideways.  “You did that?” Derek asked quietly, still confused.  “You… I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I,” Stiles said, shaking his head.  “But look, look at the last one.”  He picked up a sheet of paper and showed it to Derek, containing the end of the address.  This part wasn’t hidden at all, just written out in plain, albeit shaky, handwriting.  “I don’t even remember writing that.  You woke me up and I saw it and…. And then I started seeing the other pieces.  I think…” He looked up at Derek again.  “I think… I knew, but I couldn’t get it out.  Sometimes I know things, because of the Spark, sometimes I just feel stuff, and I don’t really know why, but… It’s like I knew where he was, but all my thinking was in the way and I couldn’t get to it.  Is that possible?”  He looked so unsure and desperate, clearly wanting Derek to give him answers, but Derek had no idea.  Sparks weren’t unheard of, but they were rare, and he’d rarely even interacted with someone capable of the kind of magic that Stiles could do.  

“How sure are you of this?” Derek asked, looking back at the address.

Stiles blinked at the sketches and shook his head slowly.  “I don’t know if Isaac’s there.  But wherever this is, it’s definitely connected with the person who took him.”

Derek’s phone was already out of his pocket.  “Good enough for me,” he said as he dialed Scott.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Derek didn’t know what he was expecting to find at the address Stiles had given them, but it wasn’t this.  It was an average house in the middle of an average neighborhood on the other side of Beacon Hills.  It wasn’t exactly the kind of place that screamed ‘kidnappers.’

Derek had circled around the neighboring house so that he could creep towards this one from the back, hopefully unseen.  They had called Sheriff Parrish and told him about their lead, and the police were on their way, but none of the pack was willing to wait.  Still, they had to be careful about this.  The pack, and Scott especially, was something of a public figure in Beacon Hills, like the public face of the supernatural elements of the town.  They couldn’t afford to just go breaking into a home just because Stiles thought it might be connected.  Hence, Derek’s part in this.  Of the members of the pack, Derek had the most sensitive nose.  He was trying to get close enough to the house to see if he could smell Isaac inside.  If he confirmed that the beta was in there, then all bets were off.  There wasn’t a law in the world that would keep Scott from breaking down the door to get to his sub.

From where he was behind a bush at the edge of the neighbor’s yard, Derek couldn’t smell much of anything.  Well, no, he smelled all sorts of things.  But none of them gave him any indication of who was in the house.  He knew moving closer would risk being seen by whoever was inside, but for the most part, he didn’t care.  He was desperate to find his packmate.  Cautiously, Derek crept closer to the house, moving toward the back door.  

That was when all hell broke loose.  The back door burst open and before Derek could react, he had a crossbow bolt buried in his stomach.  He stumbled backwards with a cry of pain and landed in the grass.  The jolt made the metal bolt in his abdomen send searing, white hot pain through his body.  His hand came up to his stomach, and before the attacker could do anything else, Derek tipped his head back and howled.  

The attacker, a fairly nondescript man in his late twenties, armed with a crossbow which he’d already reloaded, hurried back inside and shut the door.  “Stay away from the house!” he shouted.  “You and your pack!  You get that close to the house again, and we kill the sub!”

By the time he was done talking, the rest of the pack was closing in on where Derek was from where they had been watching the house from various angles.  Liam got there first, dropping to his knees next to Derek, eyes wide with panic.  “Oh my god, Derek, are you- wh-what do I do?”

Derek gritted his teeth against the pain and looked up at Liam.  “Pull it out,” he managed.  “I’ll heal.”

Liam hesitated for a second, looking like he was going to protest, but then just nodded and carefully wrapped his fingers around the bolt.  “Sorry about this,” he whispered before unceremoniously yanking the bolt out.  

A scream tore from Derek’s lips as the bolt left his body like a line of fire, but by the time the scream had died, he could already feel his body closing the wound.  “I’m okay,” he panted as more of the pack arrived.  Kira was already next to him, followed closely by Scott and then Jackson and Lydia.

“How bad is it?” Kira asked quickly. 

Derek shook his head, trying to sit up.  “It was a normal bolt, nothing supernatural, I’ll be fine.”

Scott’s eyes ran over Derek quickly, apparently determining that he wasn’t in immediate danger, because he stood and stared at the house.  The look of cold anger in his eyes was enough that Derek wondered if he should be frightened.  “You heard what they said,” he murmured without looking at any of the rest of the pack.  “They have Isaac.”

“Yeah, and they also said that if we try to get in there, they’re going to kill him,” Lydia told him.  “I know you want to run in there, Scott, but we don’t even know how many people there are.”

“Regular crossbow,” the Alpha said, point to Derek’s healing wound.  “No wolfsbane.  We can take them.”

“But are we fast enough to get them before they take it out on Isaac?” Lydia reasoned.  

Scott ground his teeth, still staring at the house, but didn’t reply, so Derek spoke up.  The pain in his abdomen was already receding, and his voice was steady.  “They won’t kill him,” he said, sounding more certain than he felt.  “Isaac is their only leverage.  And they know we’re here already, they don’t have time to run.  They know that if Isaac dies, they’re not leaving that house alive.”  No one commented, but the pack exchanged dark looks, and Derek knew they agreed.  

Suddenly, Derek heard a sound, and in unison, every head in the pack except Lydia’s had lifted up, looking towards the house.  “What?” Lydia asked.

“A door,” Jackson supplied.  “The other side of the house.”

Derek frowned, straining his ears to listen.  There was a quiet rattle, like maybe a key going into a lock, then a quiet click and a slow creak.  His eyes widened as he realized what was going on.  It was a car door.  “They’re running,” he said, pushing himself to his feet, despite the painful protests of his barely healed wound.

“What?” Lydia said again, clearly incredulous.  Then her eyes widened, and Derek could see the truth dawning on her at the same time he realized it.  The asshole with the crossbow hadn’t shot Derek because he was skittish and Derek had gotten too close.  He’d shot Derek to get the pack all in one place, made the threat about Isaac to make them hesitate, so he and whoever else was inside would have time to sneak out the other side of the house and run.

Derek launched himself into motion, but Scott was already sprinting towards the house ahead of him, with Liam and Kira on his heels.  In under a second Scott had disappeared into the house, and the rest of the pack was quick to follow.  As Derek ran through the door, he saw the same man from before send another crossbow bolt flying at Scott, who dodged it, but behind him, Jackson didn’t.  The beta fell sideways against the wall, grimacing and reaching up to pull the bolt from where it had embedded itself in his bicep.  Derek ran past him, but Scott had already lunged at the man, snarling.  

Derek was sure the man, who was scrambling back through a door on the other side of the house leading to the driveway, was about to be taken down. But then there was a blinding flash of blue-white light, and Scott fell backwards with a cry.  The man grinned.  “Mountain ash,” he sneered, pointing to a line of black powder across the door he’d just gone through.  “Works every time on you mongrels.”

Immediately, the pack was looking for a way around the barrier, ready to jump through a window if they had to, but the man was already diving into a car and pulling away.  Scott growled in frustration, sprinting through the house to the front door and running into the yard, but it was no use.  They were gone.  

Derek slammed his fist into the wall with a snarl of pent up aggression, sending bits of plaster flying.  “Dammit!”  He felt like tearing the house to pieces, and it took all his control to draw in a shuddering breath and lower his hand to his side.  He glanced around, but the pack had spread out again, some of them going after Scott to make sure he was okay and a few helping Jackson deal with the cross-bow wound.  

Derek took another breath, and realized with a start that he could smell Isaac.  For a second, he thought that it was just an residual scent, left behind after the abductors took him with them.  But he inhaled again, and it was way too strong for that.  Isaac was still here, and they’d been too distracted by the brief fight to notice.  Derek was in motion before the thought even had time to finish, sprinting up a set of stairs and then kicking in a door without even bothering to see if it was locked first.  “SCOTT!” he called as he ran into the room and dropped to his knees next to Isaac’s prone form in the middle of the room.

Isaac’s eyes were closed, but to Derek’s intense relief the submissive stirred immediately, not quite waking up but clearly reacting to the noise.  Aside from that, there wasn’t a lot to be relieved about.  Isaac was bleeding, and quickly.  Derek stripped the boy’s shirt off to try to get a look at his wounds, but it caught on something.  It was only then that he realized Isaac had a needle taped into his arm, connected to an IV full of translucent greyish fluid.  He ripped it out without even thinking and turned back to look at Isaac’s wounds.

By this point, other members of the pack were running into the room too, but Derek was too focused on Isaac to notice what they were saying.  Isaac’s chest was riddled with bullet holes, at least six of them, and all of them were oozing dark, black ichor.  “Call nine-one-one,” he said to the room at large, only to be met with a quick “Already calling,” from Kira.  This wasn’t good.  He knew this wasn’t good.  He’d seen that blackish blood only once before, and that had been bite rejection.  He didn’t know what it meant coming from someone who was already a werewolf, but it was obviously not supposed to be happening.  

Scott skidded into the room and was next to Isaac before anyone could blink.  “Isaac?” he breathed.  His hands were ghosting over Isaac like he desperately wanted to pull the sub into his arms, but didn’t dare.  “Come on, baby, wake up.”  Isaac’s eyes fluttered but didn’t open, and Scott cradled his head for a moment before looking up.  “What did they do to him?  What’s going on?”

“This is mountain ash,” Lydia said, and Derek turned to see that she was examining the IV he’d tossed aside.  “I’d have to test it to know for sure, but I can tell.”  That was enough for Derek, at least.  When Lydia had a feeling about something, he knew to trust it.  

“Oh god,” Scott whispered.  “It’s  in him?  What is it doing to him?”

Before anyone could respond, Isaac’s eyes fluttered again and then slowly opened, and the room at large collectively held their breath.  Isaac’s gaze seemed unfocused, but after a moment it landed on Scott and sharpened, just a little.  “S.. sir..” he mumbled, his voice hoarse.

“I’m here, baby, I’ve got you,” Scott said, combing his fingers through Isaac’s matted curls.  Isaac tried to say something else, but it was lost as he started coughing.  “Shh, it’s okay, don’t talk,” Scott told him.

“Hurts,” Isaac managed, his voice little more than a raspy whine.

“I know, baby, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”  There were black lines extending up Scott’s wrist, and Derek reached down and took Isaac’s hand, drawing away the pain as well.  Isaac’s face went slack, and a second later his eyes closed again, unconscious, probably for the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, Isaac's not dead! It's okay! Although I could always kill him off next chapter if you don't comment...
> 
> Kidding!! :D


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, hi! It's been like... six months? I know, I should probably be shot. To all of you who left encouraging comments, thank you for making me want to hop onto my google docs and write. To all of you who are here reading this, thank you so much for sticking with me. This story has gotten such wonderful responses despite my terrible lack of updating. I can't promise I'll be anything like regular (life is busy, adulting is hard :/) but I should be able to promise not to go this long without posting again. Sheesh. I mean, chapter 15 is already mostly written. So I'm gonna try to keep posting when I can, and you all just keep being awesome.

Stiles was going to wear a hole in the floor with his pacing.  He’d chewed his fingernails down until there was nothing left to bite, and now he was chewing on his lower lip instead.  It had been over an hour since Derek had left, and he hadn’t heard a word from the werewolf.  Not that Derek exactly had any way of contacting Stiles, short of coming back home, since Stiles still didn’t have a phone.  That knowledge didn’t exactly do a lot to assuage Stiles’ worry, though.  What if he’d been wrong, and they hadn’t found Isaac?  Or what if he’d been right, but the pack had walked into a trap?  Oh god, what if he’d just gotten them all killed?  

No, Stiles told himself firmly, coming up with worst case scenarios wasn’t helping anyone.  He just had to wait for Derek to come home.  There was no point in freaking out unless and until there was definitely something to freak out about.  He needed to just relax.  Stiles walked over to the couch and flopped onto it, trying to think about anything other than the potential danger the pack was in.

It lasted maybe four seconds.  Stiles just couldn’t sit still.  He swung off the couch and onto his feet again, pacing along the wall of windows, watching for any sign of movement outside.  Even though he knew it was pointless, because he couldn’t see the parking lot from here, so he wouldn’t see Derek get back. 

Despite his anxiousness for Derek to get back, or maybe because of it, when the door to the loft did finally slide open, Stiles nearly lept out of his skin.  He flailed for a second, regained his balance, and ran over to Derek.  “Did you find him?  Is he okay?  Is he hurt?  Did you catch the-”  Stiles’ eyes widened as they landed on Derek’s t-shirt, torn and bloody over his stomach.  “Oh my god!  You’re hurt!  Oh my god.  What happened?  Did they shoot you?  Why aren’t you at the hospital?”

“Stiles,” Derek interrupted firmly.  “Breathe.”

“But you’re-!” Stiles exclaimed, gesturing emphatically in the direction of Derek’s stomach.

“Fine,” Derek finished for him.  “I’m fine.  Look.”  He lifted up his shirt so Stiles could see the skin underneath it, smooth and unblemished as though nothing had happened.  “I healed.  I got hit by a crossbow, but it was just a regular bolt, nothing supernatural, so I healed.”

Stiles lifted a hand towards Derek’s stomach as though to touch it, but then remembered himself halfway through and aborted the gesture, tearing his eyes away from Derek’s unfairly muscled abdomen.  “But what about Isaac?  Did you find him?  I mean, you got shot with a freaking crossbow, so you found  something , right?  I mean, you don’t just get shot with crossbows regularly, do you?  Who even has a crossbow anymore?  What happened to guns?”

“Stiles,” Derek said again.  “I would explain, if you would pause long enough to let me.”

Stiles blinked, and then nodded, looking down and tugging a hand through his hair.  “Right, sorry, sir.  I didn’t mean to- I was just worried.  Sorry.”

Derek waved away the apology, then gestured for Stiles to follow as he headed for the spiral staircase in the corner of the loft.  “We found him,” he said, and Stiles let out a huge breath.

“Oh thank god.  I was so worried that I’d sent you on a wild goose chase, one where you get shot with crossbows and-” Stiles cut himself off when he realized that Derek was giving him a look.  “Right, sorry, sir.  I’ll let you finish.”

“He’s in the hospital now, Scott’s with him, but no one else is allowed in to see him yet.”  Derek didn’t seem happy about this information, though he said it matter-of-factly, no real emotion to the words.

“So he’s hurt?” Stiles asked, following Derek up the staircase to the hall on the second floor.  “What did they do to him?

“They shot him a few times.  That probably wouldn’t be an issue, except that they pumped him full of mountain ash.”  Derek headed into his bedroom, stripping out of his ruined shirt and dropping it on the floor while he pulled open a drawer to look for a new one.

Stiles hesitated outside the doorway, not sure if he was allowed in.  He’d slept in Derek’s room the night before, but still, he didn’t think he should just invade the dominant’s bedroom without an explicit invitation.  “Wait, pumped him full?” he asked, peering into the dark room.

Derek looked over at him and raised an eyebrow.  He paused for a moment, like he wasn’t sure, then said, “You can come in my room, Stiles.  You’ve been in here before.”

“Yeah, I know, but I didn’t want to just..” Stiles began, but then decided it didn’t matter.  “Nevermind.  Thank you, sir.”  He fidgeted with the hem of his shirt as he walked into the room.  “What do you mean, pumped him full?  Mountain ash is wood, isn’t it?  I thought it was a type of tree.”

“It is,” Derek said as he pulled on a dark red henley.  “You know what it does?”

“It blocks magic and stuff, right?” Stiles said.  

Derek nodded.  “It can be dangerous, if it’s used right.  Or wrong, as the case may be.  Usually it just forms barriers that werewolves and things like us can’t cross.  But it’s powerful, and it can be used against us.”  He picked up his torn shirt from the floor and looked down at it as he spoke.  “I’d never seen something like this before.  They had an IV in Isaac.  Lydia said there was mountain ash in it, dissolved somehow.  It was keeping him from healing.”

“Oh my god…” Stiles breathed, eyes wide.  “Is… is he okay?”

“I don’t know,” Derek admitted quietly.  “He’s in the hospital now.  He was conscious, briefly at least, which I imagine is a good sign.  But we just don’t know how mountain ash reacts with a werewolf when it’s in him like that.”

Stiles looked down, biting his lip, and nodded.  “I’m sorry I wasn’t faster.  If I’d found the address earlier…”

He didn’t even hear Derek cross the room until the werewolf’s hand was on his shoulder.  “Stop,” Derek said firmly.  “You did the best you could.  And without you, he’d still be there.  Don’t you dare feel guilty.”

Stiles glanced up at Derek, meeting his intent gaze for just a moment before dropping his eyes again and nodding.  He did feel guilty, though, because he was the one hiding in the basement while Isaac got kidnapped.  He knew it wasn’t totally rational, but he’d probably feel guilty until Isaac was better.  If he got better… No, best not to think about that right now.  

“Come on,” Derek said, squeezing his shoulder softly and then walking past him.  “Let’s go.”

“Where, sir?” Stiles asked, following Derek out of the room and down the stairs.  

Derek glanced back at him.  “To the hospital.  The rest of the pack is there.”

Stiles thought about pointing out that he wasn’t part of the pack, but he didn’t want to argue, because he’d rather go with Derek, so he just followed.

 

* * * * * * * * *

 

The others were sitting in a waiting room on the third floor of the hospital.  None of them were talking much, but they all looked up and managed wan smiles when Derek and Stiles arrived.  “They said he’s stable,” Kira volunteered without having to be asked.  “They’re trying to flush the mountain ash out of his system, but there’s just a lot they don’t know.  Scott came out to tell us that he’ll probably be here for a few days, at least.”

Derek nodded and turned his gaze to Liam, who was wide-eyed and looking a little pale.  The dom moved to sit down next to him.  “You doing okay, kid?” he asked softly.

Liam glanced up at him but then looked back down at the carpet again.  “I’m fine.  Just worried about Isaac.”

Derek looked like he didn’t buy it.  “You look like you’re going to throw up, Liam,” he said flatly. 

The younger beta looked up at Derek again and shook his head.  “No, sir.  I’m okay.  Not going to drop or puke or anything, promise.”

“You’ll tell me if that changes,” Derek said, no question in his tone, and Liam nodded.

Stiles wished he could do something to help.  He didn’t know Liam very well, or any of them, really, but from what he could tell, it looked like Liam was scared.  And Stiles couldn’t fault him.  Their pack had been attacked, one of them kidnapped and shot and poisoned.  And if Derek had gotten shot, who knew how many of the rest of the pack had gotten hurt in the rescue.  The whole thing was terrifying.  And Liam was barely more than a kid.  Given the givens, Stiles was of the opinion that Liam was holding it together remarkably well.  

Derek’s voice cut through his thoughts.  “Stiles,” the dominant called, and Stiles looked up to see him nod to the seat next to him, on the other side from Liam.  Stiles walked over and slumped down into it, glancing around at the little circle of chairs he was now part of.  

“Derek said you figured out where they were,” Kira said, sending him a small smile.  “I didn’t know you were a Spark.  That’s so cool.  I guess you’re like us, then.”

“What?” Stiles said, a little louder than he meant to.  “No, no, I’m not like you guys.  I mean, not that that would be a bad thing.  To be like you.  I don’t think you’re weird or scary or anything.  But I’m not.  Like you, I mean.  I’m not scary either, though the jury’s still out on weird, but that’s not what I meant, I’m just normal.”  The pack was watching him like they weren’t sure he knew how to stop talking, and Stiles could feel his face going red.  

“But, you  are a Spark, right?” Kira pressed, eyebrows up.  “So you’re not normal.  I mean, you’re supernatural.  Like us.”

“Hate to break it to you, Stilinski, but Spark or not, you were never really normal,” Jackson added.  Everyone else seemed to ignore his comment entirely, so Stiles did too.  In a way, hearing Jackson make fun of him felt almost nostalgic.

“Well, yeah, I guess,” Stiles hedged, “but I’m not like you guys.  I mean, you guys are all, you know, heavyweights.  So to speak.  You’re way out of my league when it comes to this stuff.  I don’t have a lot of power or anything.  Just little stuff.”

“You found Isaac,” Lydia said, finally speaking up.  “That’s not little.”

Stiles didn’t know what to say to that, and anyway, he didn’t want to argue with a dominant, so he just nodded, looking down and away.  Out of the corner of his eyes, he noticed Derek looking at him, brows furrowed slightly, but he was saved from having to figure out what was the matter when the dom’s head snapped up, looking toward the doorway.  A second later, Scott walked in, and the pack quickly shifted their chairs around to make room for Scott to pull one over.

“He’s asleep again, for now,” Scott informed them, sitting down heavily between Kira and Liam and dragging a hand through his hair.  “His healing has restarted.  Much slower than it should be, but his doctor says he’s out of any immediate danger and in a few days he should be pretty much fine.  Assuming the mountain ash doesn’t screw things up anymore.”

Everyone nodded, looking relieved.  For a few seconds, it was quiet, like no one knew quite what to say.  After a moment, Stiles spoke, glancing around at the pack.  “Um, can I, uh, ask a question?”  Everyone looked up at him, and he took that as his cue to go on.  “Why did this happen?  I mean, who were those people?  And what did they have against Isaac?”

Again, no one seemed to know how to answer.  “We’re not sure,” Scott said finally.

“Actually,” Lydia began, “Stiles brings up a good point.  I’ve been assuming they’re hunters of some kind, given that they knew what they were doing with the mountain ash, but then why would they have left Isaac alive?  I’m unspeakably relieved they did, but it doesn’t make sense.”

“You’re right,” Scott said, looking concerned.  “What was the point of attacking the pack?  We were so focused on getting Isaac back, we never really stopped to ask what they’re trying to get out of this.”

“They’re hunters,” Derek said, his face grim.  “They kill us.  That’s all the reason they need.”

“But they didn’t,” Lydia said.  “They left Isaac alive.  They had him long enough, if they wanted him dead, he would have been dead.  Clearly, they only wanted him incapacitated.”

Stiles raised his hand slightly, and several heads turned to him, eyebrows raised.  “Uh, dude, you don’t have to raise your hand,” Scott said.

“Right, sorry.”  Stiles dropped it hastily.  “But can someone tell me what you mean by hunters?  Because, uh, what the actual hell?  There are people who want to kill you?”

Derek sighed softly.  “It’s not as common as it once was, but it still happens.  Hunters are people who despise the supernatural.  They want to eradicate us.”

“What?” Stiles asked.  “Why?”

Derek’s jaw clenched.  “They hate us.”  There was something there, something in the way that Derek looked away from him, that told Stiles there was more there that Derek wasn’t telling him.  Whatever it was, Stiles almost wasn’t sure he wanted to know.  Derek looked angry, the way his muscles were suddenly tense, and the idea of an angry Derek was kind of terrifying.

“They think we’re dangerous,” Scott said quietly.  “Because sometimes we are.  The problem is that some hunters do more than track things that are hurting people.”

“Oh,” Stiles said softly, because it felt like he should say something.

“Lydia’s right, though,” Kira said.  “Why Isaac?  Why us?  Why attack on that specific day, when most of the pack was somewhere else?”

The pack was quiet for a second, until Lydia spoke again, frowning.  “Maybe we’ve been looking at this wrong.  What if it isn’t about Isaac at all?  What if they were there for something else entirely?”

“Like what?” Scott asked.

It was Derek who answered.  “All the things I gave you when you became an Alpha, all the things passed from my mother, did you have them at home?”

Scott blinked up at him.  “Yeah.  Yeah, I did.”

“Some of that stuff is over a hundred years old,” Lydia said.  “Besides the maps and charts and old accounts… any of that could be worth stealing, especially to a hunter or someone like them.”

“Fuck,” Scott breathed, dragging a hand through his hair.  “I didn’t even think about that.”  He looked up at the clock on the wall and scrubbed a hand over his face.  “I can’t… I’m sorry, I have to stay with Isaac.  I can’t go try to figure that kind of thing out right now.”

“It’s okay,” Lydia said, concern tinging her voice.  “I can look.  Go be with your sub.”  

Scott gave her a grateful smile.  “Tell me if you guys get anything.”  They all nodded, and Scott pushed himself to his feet and left the waiting room.

“Maps and charts?” Stiles asked after a moment.

“Things passed down from one Alpha to another,” Derek answered.  “Things that are important to the local pack.  Maps marking places of high magical potential, telluric currents, charts of moon phases and effects on the area.”

“And someone would want to steal that?”

“Unfortunately,” Lydia said.  “It’s valuable information, but only if you know what to do with it.  We don’t even understand all of it.”

“We should go,” Jackson interjected, looking over at Lydia.  “The den is empty, for all we know they could be there, clearing it out.”  Lydia nodded and stood, and Jackson followed suit.  

“I’ll go with you,” Kira said.  “I want to help.”

“Yeah,” Stiles added, standing as well.  “I want to help too.”

Derek’s hand was suddenly on Stiles’ wrist.  “No.  You’re coming back to the loft so you can rest.”

Stiles’ brow furrowed as he looked at Derek.  “I’m fine.  I want to help.  Surely another set of eyes can’t hurt, right?”

Derek’s frown deepened.  “Stiles.  You’ve had two difficult drops in the last three days, and I saw how much using your Spark took out of you.  You’re going to rest.”

The dominant’s tone was unyielding, and it was then that Stiles realized he’d just argued with Derek for the first time.  Something in the back of his brain started to panic.  Since when was he defiant?  And in public no less, in front of Derek’s pack?  Oh shit oh shit, he was going to be in huge trouble.  “Yes, sir,” Stiles said, trying to look submissive in an attempt at some kind of damage control.

Derek was still frowning, but he nodded.  After talking to the rest of the pack a little more, figuring out logistics of who would be where for the next while, Derek put a hand on the small of Stiles’ back and led the boy out of the hospital.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead!  
> I've been sitting on several chapters and not posting them while still occasionally coming back and writing more for a while now. I was nervous to post more, tbh. But I have been motivated to give it another shot. I hope you like it!

Derek could tell that Stiles was nervous as they walked to the car, and he had a pretty good idea why. The wolf could kick himself. He knew how anxious Stiles was. The sub had finally been relaxing a little and then he'd had to go and assert his dominance in public, shooting Stiles down without so much as a hesitation. Of course the boy was nervous now. He probably thought Derek was going start being controlling and repressive, especially since, well, Derek didn't know anything for sure, but he'd begun to have suspicions about Stiles' former dom. Someone who'd been treated badly before would naturally react to the signs of it from someone else. 

It was just that, when Stiles had said he wanted to help, all Derek could think about was the night before, holding a terrified and shaking Stiles in his arms as the submissive drifted through one of the worst drops Derek had ever seen. And he'd seen some bad ones in the past. To be honest, he was surprised by how well Stiles was doing today. The kid was crazy resilient. But Derek knew he needed to rest. And on top of that, there was a significant part of Derek that was threatening mutiny if he didn't get Stiles home and safe, preferably in his arms. Geez, he was going to scare the sub half to death tonight with his protective urges, wasn't he?

Derek and Stiles both slid into the Camaro, neither really looking at the other, and Derek drove off toward home. It was a few minutes before either of them found the words they were looking for, and it was Stiles who spoke first. "I'm sorry, sir," he said quietly, glancing toward Derek before dropping his gaze to his lap. 

Derek's eyebrows formed a dark line and he looked over at the sub. "Sorry?" He repeated. That wasn't what he'd been expecting, and for a second he floundered. 

Stiles looked nervous, and nodded quickly. "I didn't mean to be disrespectful, I wasn't thinking, I just wanted to help, but I know I should have been more careful. I'm so sorry, sir." The words came tumbling out of his mouth before Derek could get a word in edgewise. 

"What?" the Dom managed, in what wasn't his most eloquent moment of the night.

Stiles looked up at him, doubt coloring his expression. "I promise I know better than to talk back, especially in public, sir." He swallowed, and Derek thought he could smell a tinge of fear in the boy's scent. 

"Stiles, I was going to apologize to you," Derek said. 

It was Stiles' turn to look flabbergasted. "What?" There was a beat, then he added, "um, sir."

"You're allowed to have opinions, Stiles," Derek said quietly. "I was going apologize for sounding so harsh. I could have said it a lot better. I do think it's best that you come home with me and rest, but I didn't need to shut you down like that."

"Oh," Stiles said softly and looked down at this lap. Derek didn't know if that was a good reaction or a bad one. 

"I didn't think you were being disrespectful. I certainly don't think you would be disrespectful on purpose." Derek glanced over at Stiles again and wished he weren't driving while they had this conversation so he could look at the sub properly. His scent was no help, giving off a mix of emotions, anxiety and relief and hope and pain. 

Stiles let out a laugh, but Derek didn't think there was any humor in it. "You must not know me that well yet, then," he said, turning to look out the passenger window. 

It shouldn't have, but that stung. He was right, of course, Derek had barely known him for a few days. There was so much about Stiles he had yet to discover. But he didn't have to know someone very well to care about them. At least, it certainly seemed that way. 

"I'm sorry, that was rude," Stiles said, glancing over at Derek, pain and regret on his face. 

"No, you're right," Derek said quickly. "I don't know you very well." He didn't look at Stiles, instead just staring out at the road. He shouldn't be expecting Stiles to trust him, or even really to care much about him after such a short time. He probably shouldn't be feeling this way either, but the urge to protect and provide for Stiles was hard to ignore. And he wanted to know Stiles better. How could he not? He suddenly had this fascinating boy in his life, one who hid his spark from everyone but would reveal it to save someone he barely knew, who was tough and proud and resourceful, even after everything he’d been through, who was so obviously whip-smart and clever as they come despite sometimes being so nervous he could hardly manage a conversation. And in addition to all of that, there was the unexpected fact that he knew Scott, that they had been best friends as kids. Derek was starting to feel like Stiles should have been here the whole time, part of the pack from day one, but for a cruel twist of fate that had separated him from his friends and his home. Except that now fate or chance or the universe itself had conspired to bring him back to where he belonged. But not just to the pack… To Derek. 

The werewolf looked over at Stiles, who was staring out the passenger window, posture tired and maybe dejected but not overtly anxious. Out of everyone in the pack, everyone in all of Beacon Hills who might have found and helped Stiles a few days ago in that grocery store parking lot, he'd ended up in line behind Derek. The Dom had never been one to believe in any kind of destiny, but he couldn't help but wonder. Stiles hadn’t just come back into the pack’s life, he’d dropped right into Derek’s.

As he pulled into the parking lot next to his building, Derek tried to push these thoughts out of his head. It was the sort of thing he should be dwelling on, when it seemed unlikely that Stiles was developing similar feelings about him. And perhaps that was for the best. Derek had never been with someone longer than a few weeks, and even then, relationships tended to crash and burn. He’d never really been someone’s Dominant. He’d registered Isaac under him after his dad died, until Scott claimed the tall sub, but that wasn’t the same thing at all. 

Neither of them spoke on the way up to Derek’s loft, though judging by the look on Stiles’ face, it might be more from fatigue than awkwardness. Derek was glad to know he’d been right to take the boy home with him instead of letting him help Lydia and company, if nothing else. “We should probably just go to bed,” Derek said. 

Stiles nodded and dragged a hand through his hair as he trudged toward the couch, making it stand up in random spikes. Derek stood there for a second, watching Stiles, wondering if he should offer to let him come sleep in his bed again. To be honest, Derek had assumed he would, until Stiles headed for the couch, and now Derek didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to push. He’d done enough pushing today. Stiles paused, noticing that Derek hadn’t moved, and looked up at him with eyebrows scrunched together. “Sir? Um, are you not, uh, going to bed too?”

Derek shook his head to clear it. “Yes. Yeah, I’m…” He nodded his head towards the spiral staircase as he trailed off, still looking at Stiles. “You could.. come. If you want.”

Stiles looked confused, and Derek hated himself a little. Stiles was tired, and Derek should just let him sleep. “I thought,” Stiles began, glancing down at the couch and then back up at Derek. “Um, just that… I mean, I guess I thought you let me sleep with you last night because of the drop, and I’d be back down here tonight.”

“You can,” Derek said quickly. “If you want.”

Stiles paused and licked his lips, and the wait felt like an eternity in which Derek counted Stiles’ heartbeats and tried to determine if Stiles really wanted whatever he was about to say, or if he was just giving the answer he thought was correct.

“I- I liked your bed, sir,” he said finally, and even in the darkened room Derek could tell that Stiles was flushing. The sub ducked his head, probably to try to hide it, looking down at where his fingers were tugging on a loose string on the fraying hem of his shirt. “If you’re sure you don’t mind.”

Derek gave a small smile and nodded. “I’m sure.” He waited half a second to see if Stiles was going to say anything else before heading the spiral staircase to the little hallway on his second floor. The whole upstairs of the loft boasted less than half the floor space of the main floor, featuring just a bedroom, a bathroom, and a little space Derek had made into an office. It was largely above the kitchen and downstairs bathroom, giving the rest of the loft its high, vaulted ceilings and massive windows.

Derek discarded his jeans once he was in his room and changed into a grey t-shirt, climbing into bed in just the shirt and his black boxer-briefs. He looked over at Stiles who was trailing him into the room. To all appearances, Stiles might just have been tired, but Derek could smell the anxiety on him. The submissive avoided looking at Derek while he shrugged off his plaid button up. “If you’d be more comfortable, I could get another blanket. So we don’t have to share.” Maybe he should have just let Stiles sleep downstairs. He hadn’t meant to make the boy so nervous. At this rate, he wouldn’t even sleep. Derek had just wanted to have Stiles close, but he could push his wolf tendencies aside if it was making things difficult for Stiles.

To Derek’s relief, though, Stiles’ response was immediate. “No! No, sir. Um, thank you. But, uh, you don’t have to. I’m alright sharing.” He sent Derek a little smile, despite his nerves, and moved to crawl in bed, now stripped to his boxers and t-shirt. He settled down about a foot from Derek and chewed on his lip for a moment before glancing over at the Dom. “Sir?” His voice was quiet, tentative, somehow seeming even smaller in the dark room.

“Hmm?” Derek turned his head to look at Stiles. 

“I’m really sorry. About what I said in the car. That you don’t know me.”

“Stiles, it’s alright.” Derek shook his head. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“But I want to,” Stiles insisted. “You’ve been so nice to me, and I appreciate it, I do. It just came out. It wasn’t even about you, really. I just, I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean it.”

Derek shifted onto his side so he was facing Stiles. “It’s okay. I promise. I’m not upset.” Stiles nodded a little, looking down and chewing on his lip, though he was clearly not entirely convinced. Derek scooted closer so he lay his hand lightly on Stiles’ forearm. “Hey,” he said softly. “It’s alright. You’re tired, and it’s been a really hard few days. Don’t worry about it. Just try to relax.” 

Stiles nodded and gave Derek a little smile. His eyes flitted down to where Derek’s hand was on his arm, and Derek pulled it away, not wanting to make Stiles uncomfortable. As he did, though, he caught a flicker of an expression on Stiles’ face, smoothed away so quickly he almost wondered if it had been there at all. But he’d seen it, for sure. Disappointment. Derek paused for a second, hoping he wasn’t wrong, wondering if he should just dismiss it. But he wanted Stiles close to him so badly.

“Stiles,” he murmured, and the boy looked back up at him. Derek lifted an arm, the invitation clear. Stiles, for his part, hesitated as well, but the small, happy smile on his face was clearly genuine. He scooted closer, nestling into Derek’s shoulder. Derek rolled onto his back again, holding Stiles to him with one arm, the sub using his shoulder as a pillow, top arm curled up on Derek’s chest.

“Thank you, sir,” Stiles murmured, voice heavy with sleep. Derek just smiled and listened to Stiles’ breathing slowly deepen and even out. It was the most peace he’d felt in days at least. Although, really, he wasn’t sure he could remember ever feeling this peaceful before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm karenisyourfriend.tumblr.com if you want to hang out or bug me to write more.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are the best. I got so many lovely comments, you're wonderful. I love everyone here.
> 
> Also I forgot to mention last time, but to all the folks who left nice comments during my extended hiatus, you have no idea how much I love you. A LOT of those showed up in my inbox on days I really needed to hear something kind. Thank you to everyone who leaves nice comments or kudos, you're wonderful.

When Stiles woke up, the first thing he noticed was that he was warm. Maybe a little too warm, but only just, and it felt so good he didn't care. He shifted a little, curling deeper into the warmth. The movement jostled Derek’s arm which was still wrapped around the submissive, and Stiles smiled to himself. He’d barely moved in the night, still pressed close to Derek’s side, and the Dom was still holding him close, warm and safe in Derek’s bed. God, it felt good. After too many nights of wearing four shirts to sleep because without a proper mattress he couldn’t stay warm, waking up every time the sound of someone in the halls came through the too-thin walls… Now that he’d had two nights in a row on Derek’s bed, he didn’t want to go back to his dingy apartment.

Much as Stiles would prefer to lay next to Derek all day, though, he was quickly realizing that his bladder had other plans. “Traitor,” he mumbled, glancing down in the direction of his abdomen.

As carefully as he could, Stiles began to extricate himself from both the blankets and Derek. He hadn’t gotten far, though, when the werewolf gave a sleepy grumble and tightened his arm around Stiles, pulling the sub back against his side. Stiles couldn’t help but smile, despite the growing urgency in his bladder. “Come on, I gotta go pee,” he muttered as he pulled away again.

Derek was too strong even in sleep for Stiles to push his arm away, so the submissive started to try to wriggle out through the bottom. He’d made it a few inches before Derek rolled onto his side and wrapped his other arm securely around Stiles’ middle, seeming to have woken from the movement.

“Mmmffhh…” Derek grunted as he buried his nose in the hair on the top of Stiles’ head. Okay, maybe only partially awake, then.

Stiles sighed and twisted to try to look at Derek, but it didn’t work terribly well. “Sir,” he complained, pushing lightly at Derek’s arm. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

Derek grunted again and squeezed his arm over Stiles’ chest a little tighter. It would have been adorable if Stiles wasn’t getting more uncomfortable by the second. “I’ll come right back,” he promised.

“‘s too early,” Derek grumbled, muffled against Stiles’ hair. “Sleep.”

“But I have to pee!” Stiles twisted again, tipping his head up so he could give Derek a petulant glare. “Come on, please, sir?”

Derek let out another muffled noise that sounded miffed, but he rolled onto his back, releasing Stiles, who quickly pushed himself out of the blankets and hurried to the bathroom.

By the time Stiles returned, the bed was empty. He sighed. Comfortable, half-asleep interaction was over, then. Time to go back to trying to figure out where he fit in Derek’s world. Stiles pulled on one of his less ratty shirts and a pair of jeans and headed down the spiral metal staircase.

In the kitchen, Derek was eating cereal, and there was an empty bowl set out across the table. The invitation was obvious, so Stiles sat and quietly poured himself some cereal as well. He resolutely quashed the voice inside himself that told him he should ask before sitting down, let alone taking food. Because that voice was ridiculous, right? Derek had clearly left the cereal out for him. He wasn’t doing anything wrong.

He mostly believed it.

Stiles ate as quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb a sleepy werewolf. It wasn’t until partway through his second bowl that Derek spoke up. “I’m going to go shower, but then I want to go shopping.”

Stiles blinked. That was unexpected. “Shopping?” His brow scrunched up as he looked at Derek. “Um… shouldn’t we be looking for whoever hurt Isaac?”

Derek gave a noncommittal one shouldered shrug. “The pack deals with attacks more often than you might think. We learn to keep going anyway. Lydia’s been going over the den with a fine tooth comb, once there’s something to work with she’ll tell me. Until then, I have other things to take care of.”

“Oh.” That actually made a lot of sense. Stiles nodded, looking back down at his cereal. “Okay. So, um, what stuff do you have to take care of?”

Derek gestured with his spoon in Stiles’ direction. “Yesterday made me realize that you need a phone. You were alone while we got Isaac back, I wanted to call you after it was over but, no phone.”

Stiles swallowed his cereal and looked down, nodding a little in half-hearted agreement. It was true, life would be easier if he had a phone. But, no job, no money, now no apartment, so it looked like all his cards were coming up no phone.

Derek didn’t seem to notice Stiles’ reticence. “And clothes, too, while we’re out. Shoes. Yours have holes in the toes.”

Carefully looking back up, Stiles interjected. “Um, sir? I, um… I’m fine, really. I don’t need a phone or anything, and I can’t pay for them…”

With a shake of his head Derek cut him off. “No, I know, I was going to buy them.”

Oh. Of course. Stiles should have realized that’s what Derek meant. He looked down. Part of his brain had already skipped ahead to panic, but he was trying to ignore it, because Derek was just trying to be nice. But he already owed the Dominant too much. Derek had done so much for Stiles in the last several days, and what could Stiles possibly give him in return? It would make sense if Derek was expecting sex or something out of it, but he hadn’t so much as kissed Stiles.

“Thank you, sir,” Stiles began cautiously, “but you don’t need to do that. I don’t need any of that.”

Derek didn’t seem fazed, still eating his cereal as he shrugged. “It’s not a big deal.”

Stiles flushed. “Not to you, maybe,” he muttered, bitter, glaring down at his bowl, idly pushing bits of cereal around with his spoon. As soon as the words were out, though, he regretted them. Where the hell had that come from? Well, obviously from his frustration that Derek wasn’t taking him seriously, but feeling frustrated was miles away from actually saying something like that to a Dom. Mark would have gotten out his belt for something that disrespectful. Stiles swallowed thickly.

When Stiles risked a glance up, Derek was staring at him with a faint frown, like he was confused. “I’m sorry, sir,” Stiles murmured, ducking his head. “That was rude. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

“It’s okay,” Derek supplied quickly. “Don’t apologize.”

Stiles didn’t know what to say to that. He sent another sidelong glance at Derek as the moment stretched in silence.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Derek added finally, after several long seconds.

Stiles shook his head. “No, it’s okay, you didn’t-”

But Derek interrupted him. “Yes, I did. I shouldn’t have…” He looked away, frowning, eyebrows furrowed together in a dark line. “I’m used to having money. I forget, sometimes… it means more to people who… don’t.” He shot a glance at Stiles but looked away again. Stiles got the impression he was embarrassed, and suddenly he could see what this looked like from Derek’s perspective. Stiles had a need, Derek could fill it, simple as that. None of this was a big deal to him. Derek wasn’t the kind of guy who had a panic attack over a jar of peanut butter in a grocery store parking lot.

The sub bit back a sigh. “It’s okay, sir,” he said softly. He understood. He still felt bad for snapping at Derek, though, and vaguely off balance, like he was still waiting for… something. He tried to ignore it.

“I’m sorry,” Derek answered, quietly. There was another moment where neither of them wanted to look at the other, before Derek spoke again. “I’m not trying to show off, or… make you feel bad. I’m just trying to help.”

Stiles knew he’d overreacted, and now Derek had this sad puppy look to him, and it sucked. Stiles hated the sad puppy look on Derek. “It’s okay,” he repeated, more firmly this time. “Honestly, it’s fine. I get it. I’m not used to anyone buying things for me, is all. But you… Well, I understand what you meant, that it’s not as big a deal to you, sir. You can… get me stuff.” Okay, that felt weird. Giving a Dom permission to buy him things. It was like stepping into a weird Twilight Zone version of his life. Derek seemed to relax, though, so it must have been the right thing to say.

“Okay,” Derek responded. He didn’t seem entirely placated, but he was willing enough to let it drop, so Stiles did the same.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Derek wanted to kick himself.

He had just wanted to take care of Stiles. And to be honest, he had more money than he knew what to do with. He hadn’t even thought twice about buying things Stiles needed. A phone and clothes without holes at least, and shoes that weren’t falling apart. But he should have thought, and now he felt like an idiot. No, worse than an idiot, more like an insensitive jackass. How could he not have realized how his blasé attitude toward money would make Stiles feel? Had he forgotten how they’d met? It wasn’t just that Stiles had dropped in a parking lot. He’d dropped in a grocery store parking lot, because he’d been trying (failing) to buy food. Because he was starving. Not hungry, literally starving. Derek hadn’t really realized that at the time, but after seeing Stiles’ apartment, he could put the pieces together. And yet here he was, throwing money around like it was nothing. Stiles must hate him right now. He knew he would, if the situations were reversed.

Part of him tried to reason that he had been pretty well distracted from all of that when a packmate had gone missing, but he shoved that thought down. Isaac was okay now, and it wasn’t an excuse to be a jackass.

Stiles had been exceptionally quiet the whole drive to the mall, and Derek had spent the whole time berating himself silently. As they walked through the store, Derek tried to be helpful, but he was terrible at shopping. There was a reason he wore nothing but v-neck t-shirts. He kept trying to encourage Stiles to choose anything he wanted, and he started picking up anything that the sub’s eyes lingered on. He did his best not to mention money at all, and he pretended not to notice the way Stiles subtly checked the prices and put back everything but the cheapest options. Most of his clothes ended up being chosen from the clearance section, but Derek didn’t comment. He wanted to insist that Stiles get more than one pair of jeans, but he restrained himself. This was already progress, he didn’t need to push Stiles for more.

By the time they were done with clothes, probably an hour or so later, Derek could smell the edginess coming off of Stiles. The sub’s shoulders were tense, like he was holding himself very carefully still, and he looked tired. Derek hated how quiet he was. It felt wrong. Stiles kept close to Derek but never seemed to meet his gaze, and any time he asked a question, Stiles would answer quietly and politely, but offered no more commentary than was necessary. Derek just wanted to take Stiles home, but they still needed to get him a phone. The dom was tempted to forego it, but he didn’t want to be unable to contact Stiles the next time something happened. It wouldn’t take long, and then he would find a way to make Stiles feel better once they got home.

They walked to the mobile phone store a few shops down, and Derek watched as Stiles’ eyes widened and darted between the signs displaying the prices. “Stiles,” Derek began softly, turning towards the sub.

Stiles jumped in, looking up at Derek finally. “I don’t really need a phone, sir. I don’t have anyone to call, anyway. And you’ve already spent a lot of me, and-”

“Stiles,” Derek said more firmly, and Stiles mouth closed with an audible click. The boy flushed and looked down guiltily. Derek wanted to hit himself. Way to go, idiot, Stiles was finally talking and Derek cut him off like he was doing something wrong. He took a breath and pushed his frustration away. “It’s okay,” he continued, far more gentle than a moment before. “Look, it’s more for me than for you.” Hopefully a different tactic would make Stiles feel better. “I didn’t like not being able to contact you after we got Isaac back. And I’ll feel a lot better knowing you have a way to call me if you need me. It’s my responsibility now to make sure you never have to drop alone again, that’s all I’m doing.”

Stiles seemed to consider this for a moment. It was clear he wasn’t a fan of the idea, but he relaxed a little after a beat. “Okay,” he said finally. “I mean, yes, sir.”

Derek gave an approving nod. “It would probably be easier if I choose one for you, right?” It was a guess, but he didn’t want Stiles choosing the most out of date flip phone they had just because it was cheaper.

That seemed to relax Stiles a bit more, though he also looked down to disguise the slight flush that colored his cheeks. “Yes, sir,” he said softly. Derek’s mouth tightened. Why couldn’t he seemed to figure Stiles out? The boy was a mess of contradicting signals, and Derek was starting to feel like he was grasping at straws.

“Alright,” Derek continued. “It shouldn’t take long.” It occurred to him that it might be better if Stiles waited outside the store, so he didn’t have to actually see how much Derek was spending. “Why don’t you wait outside?” He gestured toward the interior of the mall, scattered with kiosks and stands. His eyes landed on one nearby that held a huge variety of submissive collars and the cuffs generally worn by unclaimed subs. “Go look at the cuffs. If you find one you like, I’ll get it for you when I’m done in here.” He didn’t really expect Stiles to choose one, but that was okay. He didn’t really need one.

“Yes, sir,” Stiles said again, and though he looked doubtful, he didn’t hesitate to turn and head towards the display Derek had pointed out. The dominant sighed once Stiles was out of earshot. With the amount of tension Stiles was carrying around, it was a wonder he’d made it this long without a breakdown. Derek was impatient to get this over with so he could take Stiles home and make him forget about all of this. He wanted nothing more than to put Stiles on his knees and tell him how good he’d been all day until Stiles relaxed. But he needed to get this over with first. Another ten minutes and they could go home. Derek drew in a steadying breath and turned to find a salesperson.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Stiles went to look at a nearby display as Derek bought him a phone. He was uncomfortable, of course, this whole thing had been discomfiting, but it was almost over. He didn’t like letting Derek do all this for him, but it made Derek feel better, so Stiles was trying to let it go. He just wanted to go back to Derek’s loft and at least not be here in public. He would feel safer when it was just him and Derek again.

Wandering over to the kiosk Derek had pointed out, Stiles regarded the display with little interest. There were cuffs in every material he could think of, leather and cloth and metal, velvet and shiny rainbow sequins. They varied from a simple band, unadorned with a utilitarian clasp, to entirely decorative, covering in swirling designs or colorful writing. Stiles didn’t really like any of them. Some where more appealing than others, and if he had to pick one, it would probably be one of the simpler designs, maybe one of the brown leather ones. Like the one his dad had gotten him. Stiles felt a pang of loss go through him. He wished he still had it. As it was, he didn’t really have anything left of his dad.

Stiles picked up one of the cuffs and fiddled with it idly to try to distract himself. He shouldn’t start thinking about his dad, especially not while he was already feeling anxious. Those thoughts never ended up somewhere good. Lost in his own mind and staring at the cuff in his hands, Stiles wasn’t really paying attention to the people around him. He was used to disappearing in public places like this. He stayed quiet and no one gave him a second glance. So when someone spoke to him, it took the sub a startled second to reply.

A man, probably in his late twenties, stood near Stiles, looking at the display as well. “D’you lose your cuff, kid?” He grinned as he spoke, like he found it hilarious. Stiles disliked him immediately.

“Um. Yeah,” Stiles muttered. It was a lie, he supposed, but it was better than what he wanted to say, which was something along the lines of demanding how the guy knew he was a sub and accusing him of having prejudiced stereotypes.

The man laughed, the sound grating to Stiles. “No, I can tell, that’s not it,” he drawled, moving a little closer to Stiles. “You had a collar, didn’t you? Didn’t think you were ever gonna wear a cuff again, til your Dom dumped you, huh?”

Okay, that was it, Stiles wanted to hand this guy his ass. The only problem was that he couldn’t, not physically at least. He was way too skinny, the no-muscles-at-all kind of skinny, so despite how much he would like to punch him in the mouth, all he did was curl his hands into fists at his sides. But that didn’t stop him from speaking up. He turned towards the man, squaring up to him, eyes narrowed. “How the hell is it any business of yours?”

The man grinned, like he’d been hoping for this. He moved closer, not touching Stiles but near enough to make the sub uncomfortable. “No wonder your Dom ditched you. You’re a mouthy little thing. But I like mouthy subs. They’re always the sluttiest, saying the filthiest things in bed.” The man took a step forward, his expression darkening. “Is that why you’re hanging around with the Hale mutt? I shouldn’t have expected anything like manners from a little mutt slut.”

Stiles stumbled back a step, but the man had managed to corner him against the display of cuffs. “Stay away from me,” he growled, but he sounded a lot tougher than he felt. His heart was racing. Had this guy been watching him? He knew who Derek was, apparently, but.. Was he stalking the werewolf? Was he stalking Stiles? The word ‘mutt slut’ echoed in Stiles’ head. It was the kind of derogatory term usually confined to some of the nastier portions of the internet. The sub’s instincts were screaming at him to run, but he couldn’t get past the man. He glanced around, hoping for help, but no one was looking their way. “Just leave me alone, asshole,” he managed, trying to slip past him to the side.

“Hey, we’re just having a conversation,” the asshole said, though his eyes were dark now as his hand shot out and locked around Stiles’ wrist. The sub tugged hard to free himself, but he wasn’t strong enough to break the man’s grip. “You know it’s rude to walk away when a Dom is talking to y-”

His word cut off into a shout of surprise as his hand was ripped from Stiles’ wrist and he was thrown backwards. Before Stiles could so much as blink, Derek was in front of him, between him and the man. His back was to Stiles, but the sub could guess his expression by the low growling coming from him.

“What the hell?” the man demanded from the floor several feet away, turning an uncomfortable shade of magenta. “I was just talking to-”

Again, Derek didn’t bother to let him finish. “Touch my sub again and you lose a hand.” His voice was harsher than Stiles had ever heard it. The sub just stared.

“What?” The man pushed himself to his feet and glanced around at the shoppers who were now staring at them. “Fucking mutt! Mama never teach you to keep your claws to yourself? I didn’t do anything to him!”

“Bullshit!” Stiles yelled before he could stop himself, and Derek’s growl got louder.

The man’s face was approaching maroon. “Shut up, you stupid sub cu-” The insult died in a choked gurgle, Derek’s hand around his throat. Stiles blinked. He hadn’t even seen Derek move.

“You were touching him,” Derek said, and despite the low volume, he managed to make the simple statement sound like a threat. The jackass in his grip visibly paled.

Stiles felt glued in place, unable to do anything but stare, slack jawed. He could only see part of Derek’s face since the wolf’s back was still mostly towards him, but his eyes were glowing blue. Stiles saw Derek take a breath through his nose, and the Dom’s eyes narrowed. His eyebrows bunched together further, like he was confused as well as angry, but just for a second. Claws appeared at the end of Derek’s fingers, or maybe they’d been there the whole time and Stiles was just now noticing, it was hard to be sure. The man tried to twist in Derek’s grasp, and Stiles could see the claws start to dig into his skin. All at once he was sure that Derek could, and would, kill this man. Maybe Stiles had forgotten because Derek was being sweet and gentle, but the Dom was a werewolf, and he could crush a person’s windpipe with one hand. Something Stiles might be about to witness.

“Derek, no,” he said, his voice small and afraid, but he didn’t want to see someone die. The guy was an asshole, but he didn’t deserve to die. Stiles swallowed, and despite his fear, took a step forward, then another. “Please, sir, I’m okay, he didn’t hurt me.” Stiles put a hand on Derek’s free arm as he got close. He wasn’t even looking at the man Derek held anymore, only up at the Dom’s electric blue eyes. “You don’t have to do anything, Derek, I don’t want you getting in trouble over this… please, sir, just take me home? I just want to go home.”

For a moment Derek didn’t move, like he was weighing his options. Then his hand relaxed and the object of his fury stumbled backward with an audible rush of breath. Derek turned towards Stiles, ignoring the gasping man entirely. “Come on.” He put his arm protectively, or maybe possessively, around Stiles’ waist, holding him to his side in an unyielding grip.  
Stiles managed to snag their shopping bags which had been discarded and forgotten, but otherwise had no qualms being held tight against Derek’s warm body, protected, as they made their way through the crowd of shoppers to the exit. He let out a slow, shaky breath as his eyes scanned the faces of the strangers staring at them. Normally, Stiles would feel panic start to choke him with so many people looking at him, but Derek’s solid presence at his side was holding it at bay. He didn’t feel great, really he just wanted to be home, but he knew no one could touch him while Derek was holding him. He knew that with complete, bone-deep certainty.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are lovely, thank you for the comments, they make me so happy, I can't even tell you. 
> 
> Also, I don't think I've mentioned this recently, but this is not beta read. If anyone feels like beta reading, I'd love feedback! And you'd get to read the chapter before anyone else, so, bonus. :D
> 
> EDIT: I have no idea how/why this chapter posted twice, but thanks for pointing it out, it's fixed now!!

The cool air as they left the mall was a relief, a physical separation from the trauma inside and the dozens of spectators.  Derek’s grip didn’t let up until they got to the Camaro.  Neither of them spoke as Derek ushered Stiles into the car and shut the door after him.  Stiles was watching Derek with growing concern.  He felt infinitely better now that they were alone and he was safe.  He knew a week ago, if this had happened, he’d be halfway to a drop by now, but for the moment, he was okay.  Rattled, sure, but alright.  Derek, on the other hand, didn’t seem any less tense once he got in the car and effectively shut out the rest of the world.  His eyebrows were still drawn together in a dark line.  Stiles looked down when Derek pulled his keys out of his pocket to find that the werewolf’s hand was clenching them, white-knuckled.  The sick-to-his-stomach feeling of anxiety that had only just faded was starting to build again.  Derek didn’t look okay.  He didn’t look angry, he looked… hazy?  A second later, as Derek clumsily got the key into the ignition, Stiles’ expression cleared, struck by realization, and his mouth dropped open with a barely audible “oh.”  He’d seen this before.  It was rare in Doms, far rarer than subs, but it did happen.  Derek was dropping.

Stiles got his seat belt off in a split second and half-scooted, half-scrambled over to Derek’s side of the bench-style front seat.  “Derek?”  He put a hand over the werewolf’s to stop him from starting the car.  The other went to Derek’s arm, hoping the Dom would turn towards him.  “Sir?  Can we just sit for a minute?  Please?  I- I need you to hold me.”  He pressed himself into Derek’s side for emphasis.

As Stiles expected, it got a reaction.  Derek turned towards Stiles, eyes focusing on the sub, and then suddenly Stiles was wrapped in Derek’s arms and practically on the Dom’s lap.  Stiles’ body relaxed involuntarily at the touch of his Dom, not that he was resisting.  It felt  _ awesome _ .  He felt more than heard a rumble of approval in Derek’s chest.

Dom Drop was a lot like sub drop, as far as Stiles knew.  The person got foggy, out of it, shaky.  Not exactly a condition in which Derek should be driving.  It was a fight or flight thing, a response to adrenaline in times of great stress.  Except that whereas subs would have trouble making decisions and seemed to drift in a daze, unable to regulate their own emotions, Dom Drop usually made the person defensive, aggressive, unable to think things through but desperate to protect what was theirs.  Stiles had seen it before, thankfully, and he had an idea what was going on.  He knew what Derek needed.  The werewolf had to feel like he was in control and Stiles was safe.  That he was keeping Stiles safe.  Whether or not Stiles really needed to be held right now, Derek needed to think he did, and that he was fulfilling that need.  In the same way that Stiles had needed Derek to make him feel safe during his drops, Derek needed Stiles to make him feel like he was protecting and providing, fulfilling his baser Dominant instincts.  

Stiles curled into Derek’s chest.  He might be doing this for Derek’s sake more than his own, but that didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy the contact.  Derek smelled good, rich and deep and forest-y.  Stiles buried his nose in Derek’s collar bone and let it relax him as the rise and fall of Derek’s chest slowly deepened and evened out.  He stayed there for several long minutes, until he was so accustomed to the warm silence that it almost startled him when Derek spoke.

“I’m sorry,” the Dom murmured, close enough that Stiles could feel his breath tickle his earlobe.

Stiles shook his head, though with his face still buried in Derek’s chest he mostly sort of nuzzled Derek’s shirt.  He didn’t know why Derek was sorry.  The Dom hadn’t done anything wrong.  “You’ve held me while I dropped,” Stiles said, finally lifting his head to look at Derek, a wry smile just beginning on his lips.  “I just returned the favor.”

Derek didn’t seem to relax, and Stiles’ smile faded.  The Dom’s brow furrowed, eyebrows pulled together.  “That…  I’ve never reacted that way before.  I’m sorry if I scared you.”

Stiles smiled again.  “I wasn’t scared,” he assured the werewolf.  “Not of you.  I…”  He looked down, shrugging.  “I mean, I wasn’t scared you would hurt me, sir.  I know you wouldn’t.”  

Derek’s left hand came up for a second like it was going to touch Stiles’ cheek, but it stopped before it got there and dropped into his lap.  “How did you know what to do?”  Derek seemed kind of impressed, which felt weird to Stiles.  Weird but nice.

“You’re not the first Dom to drop on me,” Stiles teased, poking Derek’s ribs, then gave a one-shouldered shrug.  “Used to happen to my dad sometimes.  When mom was sick, and after she passed.  I was just a kid then.  I’d crawl in his lap and tell him he had to take care of me and hold me, and it’d pass.”  He looked up at Derek, thinking about how that was why Doms rarely ever dropped, far less frequently than submissives.  Because subs like him dropped over anything too stressful to handle, but Doms were usually only triggered by the knowledge that their submissive was in danger, that they couldn’t protect them, like when mom was sick and there was nothing dad could do.  Stiles frowned as a few disparate pieces of information sidled together in his mind and fit like puzzle pieces.  

“Stiles?” Derek asked after Stiles had been quiet for a moment.

“You’ve never dropped before?”  He looked up at Derek for confirmation.  It made sense that Derek hadn’t dropped before, he hadn’t had a submissive before.  But that meant… that meant he saw Stiles as HIS submissive.  Not just some kid he was helping out.  Doms didn’t drop over kids they were helping out.  Doms dropped when a serious emotional bond was threatened.

“No, I haven’t,” Derek answered, looking a little confused.  “Why?”

Stiles licked his lips.  “Because… you didn’t drop when Isaac was missing.”  Isaac, whom Derek had known for much longer, whom Derek ought to be much closer to, for whom Derek had been incredibly worried, hadn’t triggered a drop.  But Stiles did.

Derek’s eyebrows had drawn together again.  “Is that bad?”

“No, sir,” Stiles answered quickly, his mind reeling with the crazy, impossible end result of his current chain of logic.  

“Stiles,” Derek said a little more firmly as his hand came up to Stiles’ cheek and made contact this time, turning the boy’s face up towards his own.  “You look like steam is about to come pouring out of your ears.  What’s wrong?”

Stiles hesitated for a second, tongue darting out to wet his lips, gaze moving back and forth between Derek’s hazel eyes.  “You called me your sub.”

Derek blinked, obviously surprised.

“Inside,” Stiles clarified, nodding towards the mall.  “You told him not to touch your sub.  Meaning me.  Implying that I was yours.”

Derek’s eyebrows drew, if possible, closer together.  “Is that bad?” he repeated.

“No, sir,” Stiles said again, looking down again as he thought.  “I guess… I guess it isn’t even new.  You did the same thing at the PDSO.  You said… that you had me now, so it was okay.”  He looked back up at Derek, who was staring at him like he was trying to figure out a particularly difficult puzzle.  Stiles almost laughed just because he felt exactly the same way.  “It’s okay,” he assured Derek.  He lifted his right hand to set it on the Dom’s chest, hoping to comfort him.  “It made me feel safe.  Like you were going to take care of me.”

There was a long pause during which Derek only stared at Stiles, his eyebrows doing something complicated and arcane.  “Do you want that?” he asked at last.

“To be taken care of?”  Stiles’ voice held a note of surprise.  Of course he wanted to be taken care of.  Everyone did.

Derek shook his head minutely.  “To be mine.”

Stiles fell still and silent.  He was right then, wasn’t he?  Derek had feelings for him.  The drop proved it.   _ This _ proved it.  “Is that an option?”  His voice was barely there, almost afraid to hear the answer.

Derek’s eyebrows did something new, and Stiles could swear he was looking at the sub like he was crazy.  “Yes,” he said after a moment, firmly, no room for doubt.

If asked later, Stiles would blame his ADHD for what he did next, because he did it without hesitation, without thought.  He didn’t even decide to do it.  His body just moved.  One second he was sitting there, and then next his lips were against Derek’s, his eyes closed, kissing the Dom for all he was worth.

Before Stiles’ brain had the chance to catch up with him and panic about his sudden lack of anything resembling polite behavior, Derek’s arms had wrapped around Stiles to hold him close and the Dominant was returning the kiss just as enthusiastically.

After a long moment, Stiles pulled back, mostly because he was out of breath.  He looked up at Derek, a smile playing over his lips, his chest rising and falling rapidly like he’d done a sprint.  Derek looked flushed, eyes slightly dilated, and Stiles realized that the Dominant had enjoyed their kiss as much as he had.

They were both quiet for a long moment, both watching the other, like if they stared hard enough they could read their minds.  It was Derek who broke the silence.  “Was… was that a yes?”

Stiles started laughing.  He pitched forward, burying his face in Derek’s chest in a fit of giggles.

Derek was smiling too.  “I need to hear it, Stiles.  Was that a yes?”

“Yes, that was a yes, you ridiculous person, sir,” Stiles said, lifting his head again to look at Derek.  “I want to be yours.  I’m already yours.  I was yours from the first time you held me.”  

Derek was quiet for a second, like he needed to process.  And then he kissed Stiles again, for several minutes this time.

  
  
  
  


* * * * * * * * * * *

  
  


The drive home was quiet, but Derek held Stiles’ hand in his the whole way, and Stiles was giving off these warm, sweet smells that reminded Derek of home.  He smelled like home.  Not in the sense of a place, really, though, Stiles didn’t smell like Derek’s loft.  But it was a happy scent, peaceful. He didn’t know how to describe it, really, except that it made him feel like coming home after a long trip.  He looked over at Stiles only to catch the sub watching him.  Stiles blushed instantly and dropped his gaze, biting his lower lip to cover a smile.  Derek smiled too.

 

It wasn’t until they were making their way into Derek’s loft ( _ their _ loft now, he thought happily) that the Dom finally spoke up.  “Stiles,” he murmured, reaching a hand towards the sub, and Stiles’ answering smile was hesitant and beautiful.  He set down the shopping bags on the table and moved to take Derek’s hand.  “I want to do this right,” Derek continued as he took Stiles’ hand in his, rubbing his thumb over Stiles’ knuckles.  Stiles nodded and dropped his gaze, canting his head forward just slightly to appear submissive, acquiescent.  Derek led him towards the couch.  “Rules, a collar, a contract… I want to be the kind of Dom you deserve.”

 

Stiles looked back up at that, his lips twisting up at the corners like he thought Derek was funny.  “You’re more than I deserve, sir,” he said in the same confident tone he might have used to say water was wet, the sky was blue, the pope wears a funny hat.

 

The way those lips curved into a smile was gorgeous, but the way Stiles’ amber eyes sparkled like he knew something Derek didn’t was downright unfair.  Derek was entranced.  He dropped Stiles’ hand in favor of moving his up to cup the side of Stiles’ jaw, just below the ear, where his thumb could trace the ridge of Stiles’ cheekbone.  He leaned in, slowly, giving more than enough time for Stiles to pull away or make any kind of signal he didn’t want this.  Stiles’ tongue darted out to wet his lips.  Derek’s eyes slid shut as he closed the space between them and pressed his lips to the sub’s.  The kiss was slow and gentle, deliberate, like he was showing Stiles the way he intended to treat him.  

 

After a long moment, Derek pulled away and Stiles blinked up at him.  The way the sub’s lips were still parted and slightly wet, his eyes wide and vulnerable but not afraid, made a smile appear on Derek’s face.  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered.  But that, unfortunately made the expression disappear as Stiles blushed and ducked his head, obviously trying to shrug off the compliment.  It made something constrict in Derek’s heart to think that Stiles wouldn’t, or couldn’t, accept a sincere compliment, but now wasn’t the time to deal with that.  Derek had gotten distracted, but the things he wanted to talk about were important.  

 

“Is that what you want?” Derek asked, going back to the topic.  “Rules and a collar, all of it?”

 

Stiles looked nervous, but he didn’t hesitate to nod.  “Yes, sir.”

 

Derek tipped his head to the side slightly, concerned lines appeared in his brow.  “You don’t have to.  It’s not… all or nothing, I guess.  I know that we…”  He looked down, away from the sub.  “We haven’t actually known each other for very long.  So if you need to slow down, it’s okay.”

 

“No, I want this,” Stiles said quickly.  His hands reached towards Derek, but he hesitated before making contact and drop them into his lap again. He pulled his lower lip between his teeth and worried at it.  More than anything, Derek wanted to soothe all his nerves away.  Taking one of Stiles’ hands, Derek squeezed it gently.  It seemed to help a little.  Stiles spoke again, more slowly, like he was deliberately choosing every word.  “I’m nervous, but I’m not scared.  After everything you’ve done for me… I could never be scared of you, sir.  I’m just nervous because I don’t want to mess this up, and I, well, I kind of have a history of, you know, messing things up.  But I do, I want rules and everything, I’m just…”  He trailed off a little, glancing around.  “Worried.  Just worried.  And I babble when I’m nervous.  Sorry, sir.”

 

Derek squeezed the boy’s hand again.  “It’s okay,” he murmured.  He kind of liked the babbling, because at least Stiles was telling him what was wrong.  It was a lot better than the tense silence which left Derek to guess at what Stiles needed.  He lifted a hand to card gently through Stiles’ hair, trying to calm him.  “I’m nervous too.” Stiles looked up, seeming surprised, and Derek smiled softly.  “I’ve got a history, too.  And I… I have to do this right.  How about I tell you my rules?  They’re not hard.  Maybe hearing them will help you relax, because they’re doable.”

 

Stiles smiled slightly at that and nodded.  “Yes, please, sir.”  His voice was quiet but some of the brittle energy had already dissipated from it.  Derek relaxed a little too.  He needed to do better at taking control when Stiles was nervous, he reminded himself.  It always seemed to placate him.

 

“Okay,” Derek said.  “We’ll write them down later, so we have a clear set of rules, but they’re not set in stone.  We can change them if we need to.  Okay?”  Stiles nodded, and Derek gave him a small smile.  “Firstly, if you’re my sub, that means you’re part of the pack.”  Stiles blinked.  Clearly he hadn’t been expecting that to be the first rule.  Or maybe he hadn’t expected it to be mentioned at all.  It was hard to tell.  Derek went on anyway.  “I know you’re not a werewolf, so it will be different for you than it is for me, but neither are Lydia or Kira.  You’re still pack now.”  Normally, as a beta, Derek should have checked with Scott first before offering a collar to Stiles, but Stiles was a special circumstance.  From the way Scott had talked about Stiles, he was pretty sure that the Alpha wanted Stiles in the pack anyway.  “The pack takes care of each other.  And if Scott tells you to do something, I expect you to listen to him.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Stiles murmured, nodding.  Despite his initial surprise, Stiles didn’t seem at all perturbed by that rule.  So far so good.  

 

Derek paused for a second to gather his thoughts before continuing.  “Two, your new phone needs to be with you at all times.  And kept charged.  You can go anywhere you want, but if I’m not with you, I want you to text me where you’re going, and again when you’re back.  I want to know where you are, that you’re safe.”

 

Stiles nodded like he’d been expecting that.  “You said something like that at the store.  About wanting to be able to know I’m safe, that’s why you wanted me to have a phone.”

 

Derek smiled.  “Right.” He lifted Stiles’ hand to his lips so that he could kiss the backs of the fingers.  “I need you to be safe.”  He lowered Stiles’ hand into his lap but continued to play with the sub’s long, clever fingers as he looked back up at the boy.  “Three.  I need you to tell me when you need something.  I know it was uncomfortable letting me buy things for you, but if you wear my collar, you’re mine to take care of.  It doesn’t matter how big or little it is, if you need something, tell me.  Even if you just need to kneel for me for a little while.  I want to be able to give it to you.”

 

Despite nodding readily, Stiles was looking down, not making eye contact, and had gone back to chewing on his lip.  “Stiles?”  Derek’s voice was soft, probing.  “What’s wrong?”

 

Stiles’ eyes snapped back up to Derek’s.  “Nothing, sorry, nothing’s wrong, sir.  I understand the rule.”  Derek frowned, confused, and Stiles seemed to backtrack.  “Well, it’s just… what if I don’t know what I need?  Because that happens a lot.  Or, what if I need something you can’t give me?  What if I need it from someone else, or it’s some metaphysical need no one can fill? Or what about things I need that I can do for myself?  Like, I mean, I doubt you want to know every time I have to pee, but then where exactly is the line for things so inconsequential you don’t need to know about them?”

 

Derek blinked, completely blindsided by all the questions, but he realized quickly he shouldn’t have been surprised.  Stiles was nervous, and besides, this wasn’t the first time Derek had glimpsed the ever-active mind that Stiles often seemed to hide.  Before he could answer the questions, though, Stiles was pulling back.  “Sorry, sir, I- I shouldn’t ask so many questions, I’m sorry, I’ll be quiet,” the sub mumbled, looking down again.

 

Derek was starting to feel like Stiles’ conversational direction changes were giving him whiplash.  “Why shouldn’t you ask questions?”  Derek furrowed his brow, genuinely confused and increasingly concerned.

 

The little sub shrugged and fidgeted with his hands in his lap but didn’t look up.  “-m not supposed to question the rules.  It’s not my place.”  He didn’t seem convinced by his own answer, though.  Derek didn’t know what to make of that.

 

“Well… I’m giving you permission to question them,” Derek answered, causing Stiles to look up at him curiously.  “I like your questions.”  That actually caused Stiles to smile, just a little, and a blush colored his cheeks.  Derek smiled back.  “As to where the line is, err on the side of telling me too much.  At least at first.  You’re a smart person, you’ll find a comfortable middle.  Does that help?”  Stiles nodded, still smiling a little.  “And if you don’t know what you need,” Derek added, “do your best? Try telling me how you feel, and go from there.  The point is, Stiles, as your Dominant, it’s my responsibility and privilege to provide for you now, but I can’t do that unless you let me.  You have to let me.”

 

Stiles was smiling a little wider now, and looking down a little, like he was feeling shy.  Derek had a feeling that he hadn’t expected any of the rules to be about how Derek could best take care of him.  Stiles probably thought rules were supposed to be about how a sub behaved.  He seemed to have a lot of twisted up ideas like that, and Derek had a feeling he’d only seen the tip of the iceberg.  Normally that would have upset him, but he couldn’t feel anything but joy while Stiles had that adorable grin on his face.

 

“Number four,” Derek said, moving on, “is a lot like three.  I need you to tell me if you feel like you’re going to drop.  Text me if I’m not nearby.  Any time, no matter what.  Sub drop is serious.”  Stiles had shrugged it off before, but even if Derek hadn’t thought sub drop was a big deal before meeting Stiles, he’d had ample evidence in the last few days to change his mind.

 

Thankfully, Stiles didn’t try to shrug off the gravity of the topic this time, but just nodded.  Derek decided that was enough of an answer.  “Just one more.  No lying to me.”

 

Stiles looked up at Derek at that, his expression bordering on offended.  “I would never lie to you, sir,” he objected.

 

Derek held up a finger.  “I’m defining lying as obscuring the truth in any way.  That means lying by omission or purposely misleading me, too.  I know you won’t do it, but I want you to understand.  Lying to me will make me angrier than almost anything else you could do.”

 

Stiles blanched and Derek immediately regretted using the word ‘angry.’  “I- I won’t, sir, I promise,” Stiles protested, but his voice was smaller than before.  

 

“No, I know you won’t,” Derek said in a much softer tone, reaching up to run his fingers through Stiles’ hair again.  “I’m not accusing you of anything.  You’ve been nothing but good for me.”  Stiles relaxed visibly, leaning into the touch, and Derek pulled him closer.  He wrapped his hand around the back of Stiles’ neck and tugged him in against his shoulder so he could circle his free arm around Stiles’ waist, holding him securely to his chest.  “That’s it.  That’s all the rules.  Can you do all that?”

 

It was frankly adorable the way Stiles didn’t bother to lift his head from Derek’s shoulder when he nodded, making his cheek rub over the fabric of Derek’s shirt.  The dom turned his head to press a kiss to Stiles’ hair.  “Good boy.”  He held Stiles like that for a long minute without speaking, since he knew Stiles probably needed to decompress.  “Is there anything else we should add to the list,” he asked eventually.  “You get a say in the rules.  If there are things you need me to do, or not do, or rules for yourself that you want me to enforce, we can add them”  

 

Stiles shrugged without pulling away from Derek’s chest.  “‘M fine, sir,” he mumbled, and Derek smiled at how relaxed he sounded.  He was probably exhausted.  He’d had a long, stressful day.

 

“Alright,” Derek agreed.  “I’ll write them out later, and we can both sign them.  But we can change them later if we need to.  If you think something’s wrong, we’ll change them.”  Stiles made an approving noise, and Derek pressed another kiss to his hair.  “Tomorrow we can get a collar for you.  Any idea what you’d like?”

 

Stiles actually lifted his head to look at Derek at that.  “Can you pick, sir?  I mean, I don’t like gaudy ones, just something simple.  But I want it to be yours.  Whatever you want to put around my neck.  Your choice, your claim.”

 

Derek felt a rush of hot, possessive pride surge through him.  “Mine,” he whispered, and leaned down to capture Stiles’ lips in a fervent kiss.  


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently I really can’t stick with one POV for a whole chapter anymore. Alas. Hopefully the switches don’t feel weird to you guys.
> 
> Also I want to give a quick trigger warning for later in the chapter, there’s some verbal degradation/slut shaming, followed by some.. ah... fairly distressing bits? (the badness is not from someone we love, don’t worry) but just a heads up if that is difficult for you. Obviously what qualifies as “fairly distressing” is subjective. I’ll leave a more thorough trigger warning in the end notes, please check them out if dubcon or emotional abuse might give you a very bad day. And if you decide you don’t want to read that bit, you can still read the first half of the chapter, until the line of asterisks. You’ll be able to skip to next week’s chapter after that. I would be happy to give you a trigger-free summary of the badness, if you’d like to skip, just leave a comment that you’d like one. Take care of yourself, loves.

Despite their high spirits, both Derek and Stiles were fairly well exhausted by this point.  Derek suggested they watch a movie and eat frozen pizza, and Stiles was more than amenable.  He was shy at first (of course) to suggest a movie, carefully deferring to Derek’s preference, so Derek decided to start coming up with ways around Stiles’ hesitance when it came to choices.  “Suggestions, then,” he told Stiles.  “Suggest five movies we could watch, so I can pick one I know you’ll like.”

“Okay, well, that makes it difficult,” Stiles said seriously, “because there are seven Star Wars movies.  And that’s just for starters.”

Derek practically beamed at him.  “Well, then name your top five Star Wars movies.”

“Oh geez, okay, that’s rough.  I mean, Empire is amazing, but so was The Force Awakens.  That’s… I don’t know.  What do you think, sir?  If you had to choose?”

Derek shrugged, putting the pizza in the oven, then straightening up again.  “I haven’t seen them.”

Stiles jaw dropped.  “You  _ what _ ?”  Derek raised an eyebrow.  “I mean, um, you know, an expression of shock that was slightly more polite, sir.”

Derek laughed at that.  “That wasn’t impolite, Stiles.  But no, I haven’t seen them.  Is that a deal breaker for you?”  He grinned, teasing.

“Well, not if you watch them all immediately, sir,” Stiles informed him.

“Seven movies?  I don’t think we can do that in one night.”

“Then we should get started!”  Stiles darted forward to grab Derek’s hand and start to tug him towards the couch, then hesitated again.  “I mean, if you want, sir.”

There was no way in hell Derek was going to say no to Stiles.  “Of course I want to.  Come on, I’ll find somewhere to stream it.”  Stiles’ answering smile was beatific.  

The first movie (which was also the fourth movie for reasons that weren’t entirely clear) was, Derek had to admit, pretty good.  Stiles enjoyed it a lot more than Derek did, but Derek got to enjoy watching Stiles enjoy it, which was easily as good.  He kept excitedly pointing things out to Derek, and Derek, while he didn’t care that much about the encyclopedic knowledge of the Star Wars universe that Stiles seemed to possess, kept coming back to the thought that this was the most he’d heard Stiles say at one time.  How much was the kid censoring himself on a regular basis?  A couple of times, Stiles would say something about just letting Derek watch and then go quiet, but Derek was quick to insist that he liked hearing Stiles’ commentary, and Stiles sent him a shy smile and resumed his chatter.  

Derek also discovered that, when Stiles wasn’t focusing on what he was doing, he never sat still for longer than about a minute and a half.  He was constantly gesticulating, moving around, leaning forward so he could more animatedly point out something on screen, then scooting back on the couch again so he could wedge himself into Derek’s side.  Much to Derek’s pleasure, he also noted that Stiles seemed to be on an invisible tether, and despite moving on and off the couch he never went more than arms’ length from the dominant.  For his part, Derek kept a hand on Stiles whenever possible, whether on his shoulder or in his hair, around his waist or holding Stiles’ hand.  

He had never been that into movies himself, but with Stiles there to keep him engaged, Derek found he could much more easily see the appeal.  

But it had been an exceptionally long, full day, in a series of exceptionally long, trying days.  Derek was, therefore, not at all surprised when, twenty minutes into Empire Strikes Back, Stiles started to go suspiciously quiet, curled into Derek’s side under the dom’s arm, his legs tucked up under him on the couch.  Derek looked down at the boy to find his eyes drifting closed.  For a minute or two, he didn’t disturb Stiles, because he wanted to watch.  The sub was so peaceful like this.  

After a moment, Derek reached for the remote to stop the movie, which woke Stiles, who lifted his head sleepily.  “Hey,” he mumbled, “was still watching…”

Derek let out a tiny breath of laughter at the protest, and, struck by how adorable Stiles was at the moment, tipped the sub’s chin up with his free hand so that he could press his lips against Stiles’.  Stiles hummed, just for a moment, and looked slightly flushed when Derek pulled back.  “Come on, bed,” he said firmly, and started to disentangle himself from Stiles.  There were no protests this time, and Stiles seemed eager to be held again, once they were in bed.  

Stiles drifted off again within minutes.  Derek watched the slow rise and fall of his chest, and all he could think was how precious Stiles was, what infinite value, and how ill-equipped Derek was to be trusted with such a thing.  How remarkable and even insane, no matter how gratifying, that Stiles already trusted him so fully, so easily, despite the fact that Derek was just feeling his way through the dark, no way of knowing what obstacles were in their way.  How much he wished Stiles could see himself the way Derek saw him.  A gift, not a burden.  

He fell asleep wondering how he could ever communicate all of that to his beautiful submissive.

* * * * * * * *

It was dark out, but Stiles could still see everything around him.  It was trees, mostly, their stark silhouettes moving slightly in the wind, creating sections of darker shadows and distracting, clawing figures in the night. Stiles was afraid.  He wanted to run, but he couldn’t.  His legs wouldn’t seem to listen to him.  He wanted to scream for help, but when he opened his mouth, barely a whisper came out.

There was a woman there, smiling at him, sharp and predatory.  Odd, he thought, somewhere in the back of his head, that Stiles knew actual predators now, and that was not how they smiled.  She smiled like she could see he was scared, and she liked it.

“Well, I can see why he likes you,” she said, leaning forward so her dark blonde hair spilled over her shoulders.  Stiles recoiled instinctively.  “You look just good enough to eat.  Don’t you think so, Travis?”  That last bit was directed at someone else, to Stiles’ left.  He looked over.  There was a man there, older than Stiles by a decade, maybe less.  He didn’t look particularly happy.  He certainly wasn’t enjoying this the way the woman was.  But if he disagreed with her, he didn’t say so.

The blonde grinned at Stiles, just a little wider.  “Who knew Derek had a thing for little birds with broken wings?”  

“Leave me alone,” Stiles managed, voice hoarse and shaking. 

The woman laughed.  “Oh, baby, I can’t let you go, not when we’ve still got so much to talk about!  Like, for starters, what I really want to know, is what  _ you _ see in  _ him _ ?  I mean, other than the abs and jaw so sharp it could cut glass?  Because yeah, he grew up in all the right places, didn’t he?  If he were actually a person, I’d want a piece of that pie too.  But he’s not.  And you know that, don’t you, baby?  You know he’s a monster.  So what I want to know is, what turns a regular guy like you into a dirty little mutt slut?  Did you just get bored with your own species?”

Stiles’ chest felt tight, like it did before a panic attack, and he could feel himself shaking.  But he refused to cry.  He wasn’t going to give her that.  “He’s not a monster,” Stiles told her in what was his firmest, toughest voice, but at the moment even he could tell it sounded weak.  He swallowed and lifted his chin, doing everything he could to steady himself.  “He’s not a monster.  A monster hurts people.”

She laughed at that too.  “Do you think he doesn’t?  Did he tell you that?  Does he go to Monsters Anonymous on the weekends, follow their twelve step program on how not to claw people to death?”

“He’s not like that!”  Stiles voice cracked when he tried to yell.

“And how long have you known him?  How much has he told you about his past?  Has he told you about his first girlfriend?  First person he loved, and the first person he killed.  Has he told you how death follows him like a lovesick puppy?  About his uncle? His sister?  His bitch mother?”

“Stop!” Stiles shouted, though it turned into a sob by the time he got to the ‘p.’  He turned away, hiding his face, curling into a ball.  “Just stop!  L-leave me alone!”

He felt her hand in his hair.  “Shh, baby, it’s okay, I’m gonna fix it.  It’s okay, shh..”

Stiles tried to pull away from the hand, but it only moved down to his neck, his shoulder, then down his back, softly, gently, like he was a spooked horse.  

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Mark said, his voice gentle, more disappointed than angry, if anything.  His hand moved back up Stiles’ spine, soothing.  “I’m here, I can fix everything.  Don’t you trust me?”

Despite his shaking and the way his stomach was clenching, Stiles was glad his Dominant was still touching him.  It would be worse without that steadying contact.  “Yes,” he gasped.  “Yes, sir, I trust you.”  His mind was racing, though, trying to remember what he did wrong, what mistake he made.  He could tell in Mark’s voice, that he’s mad about something, despite the lack of heat in its tone.  Stiles was an expert in reading Mark’s voice.  But he was wracking his brain, trying to think of why his Dom was upset with him, and he just couldn’t remember.  He sucked in a breath, eyes burning even as he squeezed them shut.  He could feel his skin heating as it reddened, betraying his shame at having been bad and his anger at the injustice of it, since he couldn’t even remember what he’d done.  

And yet, when Mark’s hand moved up into his hair, Stiles arched his back to press into Mark’s touch.  It didn’t matter what he was feeling, how embarrassed or scared or angry he was.  He needed any comfort Mark saw fit to give him.  He was hungry for it.  He ached for it.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” Mark murmured to him.  “It’s alright, you know I’ll take care of you.  You’re okay.  You just need corrected is all.  Just a reminder.  Then you’ll be fine, right, baby?”

“Yes, sir,” Stiles whispered, because he knew the right answer, even if he didn’t know why he was bad.  “Th-thank you, sir.”

He could hear the smile in Mark’s voice.  “There’s a good boy.  Remembering your manners.”

Stiles sucked in a shaky breath and tried to talk himself into calming down.  It was okay.  Whatever he’d done, it didn’t matter, because Mark was going to take care of it.  Mark would punish him, and then it would be okay.  Maybe.. maybe it wouldn’t even be that bad.  Maybe just a short spanking.

He turned his head to chance a look at his Dominant.  Mark looked… deliberate.  Determined.  Not angry, not in an overt sense, but he didn’t look pleased, either, and he didn’t look reluctant, might he might have if Stiles had only done something minor and Mark found himself regretting the need to punish Stiles for it at all.

Mark turned slightly and Stiles saw what he was holding.  A long, thin, bamboo cane.  Stiles blanched.  His breath caught.  “Please, I- I’m sorry,” he whispered, though he knew it wouldn’t change anything.  He hated the cane.  A spanking he could handle, but the cane would have him sobbing.

Mark tsked and said something, but Stiles didn’t process it.  It was hard to think over the rushing in his ears, the constriction of his chest that made it feel like he couldn’t get enough air.

 

Stiles woke up gasping, drenched in sweat.  

He couldn’t breathe.  He couldn’t think past the one loud, insistent need to get out, to get away, to run and hide.

Clumsy hands pushed blankets aside and his bare feet hit the floor, and he barely even knew he was stumbling out the room and down the hall, shutting himself in the bathroom, shoving himself into the corner, trying not to hyperventilate.  It felt like he was dying.

Goddammit.  Stiles hated his brain at the best of times, but on nights like this, his hair-trigger fight-or-flight response could go fuck itself.  Just as soon as he could breathe again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endnote: TRIGGER WARNING - the second half of the chapter a nightmare. (not metaphorically, it’s a bad dream.) It starts with Stiles interacting with a woman he doesn’t know, who calls him nasty names and denigrates his relationship with Derek and generally scares him, featuring some badtouch vibes. Then it shifts, and his ex-dom Mark is there, and he’s icky. There’s no sexual content to it, but I’d still call it dubcon, because while Stiles is submitting to him and never says no, he clearly isn’t thrilled about it. There isn’t any explicit physical abuse (Stiles wakes up before Mark actually punishes him, so it’s only the lead up to it), but it gives a pretty clear idea of ongoing psychological abuse, along the lines of gaslighting. I think you’ve all figured out by now that Mark was the worst. Killing him off screen in a car accident before the story started was the kindest thing I could have done, to be perfectly honest. Anyway, if you wanna skip that bit, that is fine! Leave a comment or shoot me a message on tumblr (karenisyourfriend.tumblr.com) and I’ll give you a summary of the plot-important bits without the triggery stuff. 
> 
> Also as I was writing this end note this occurred to me, and I just want to make it clear: just the fact that a Dom punished a sub is not abuse (especially not within this AU). I don’t want anyone coming away from this thinking that I think it’s abuse just because spanking happened. It’s fine if it’s safe/sane/consensual. Not part of a broader scheme of emotional abuse (looking at you, Mark). 
> 
> Sorry, I didn’t mean to turn this into a PSA on emotional abuse. Next week Derek will hug Stiles muchly. Promise. Everyone go watch a video of puppies.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of you are wonderful and I love you. And metaphorical brownies for everyone who comments, because you are the real heroes here.   
> Check out the bottom for more specific warnings, but this chapter includes a panic attack.

It took a minute for Stiles to fully register where he was.  He’d woken up with one foot already in a panic attack, and his body had more or less acted on autopilot while his terror-addled brain scrambled to gain any kind of purchase on reality.  He had run down to the bathroom out of a desperation to find somewhere to hide, and because he didn’t want to wake Derek.  It was strange, he’d noted on many occasions, which thoughts actually made it through the crushing panic.  Despite how ridiculous it seemed to be worrying about bothering his Dom while Stiles was struggling to breathe, it was one of the few clear thoughts in Stiles’ head.  

Stiles had managed to wedge himself into the corner of the bathroom between the toilet and the wall.  The tile was freezing, especially against his clammy skin and damp shirt, and Stiles was shivering badly.  Or maybe he was shaking, from the panic.  The difference was unclear.  It didn’t matter, he was more worried about the fact that he was starting to hyperventilate, and the feeling that he was either going to implode or start sobbing at any moment.  He still wanted to run, like a primal urge to flee, but there was nowhere to go, and anyway, that would require leaving his hiding spot, which he was completely unwilling to do.  At least here he had a wall on two sides and the cold porcelain of the toilet on the other, making him feel at least a little protected.  Nothing could sneak up on him.

The feeling that he couldn’t breathe wasn’t going away, no matter how much Stiles tried to breathe normally.  He felt like his chest was so tight he couldn’t get anything into his lungs, despite the fact that, physically, he could tell there was air going in and out, unobstructed.  It was all psychological, he knew that, and yet despite it just being in his head he just couldn’t make it  _ stop _ .

There was nothing to do but ride it out.  Stiles pulled his knees up to his chest and dropped his head down to hide his face against his legs.

“Stiles?” Derek’s voice came from the other side of the door, and Stiles’ head snapped up. “Are you alright?”  Derek sounded concerned, and Stiles felt the panic tightening again, making tears well up in his eyes, no no no he didn’t want Derek to see him like this, he couldn’t, Derek would see how broken he was and everything would be awful and-

“I- I’m okay, sir,” he gasped, trembling.  “I’m sorry I- that I woke you, it- it won’t happen again…”  His hands clutched at the bare, cool skin of his legs, fingernail dug in a bright spot of pain.  He tried to use that to focus, anything that he could grab onto other than the panic, and it was enough that he could nearly manage complete sentences.

There was a pause before Derek answered, and when he did, his voice sounded yet more worried.  “You don’t sound okay.”  It wasn’t accusatory.  Even in this state, Stiles could tell that Derek was controlling his tone carefully so as not to scare him.  He flinched anyway.  “Your heart is beating really fast,” Derek continued.  “Can I come in?”

The last thing Stiles wanted was for Derek to see him like this.  Even though he  _ knew _ it was ridiculous, Derek had seen him cry and drop and panic, and he hadn’t ever seemed phased by it.  But he felt so pathetic, so broken, and the idea of Derek seeing him like this was equal parts terrifying and humiliating.  He wanted to crawl in a hole where no one can ever find him.  Except that the idea of being actually alone was just as bad.  Even now, with Derek just outside the door, it felt like the isolation was crushing him.  And it was so, so frustrating, trying to wrangle his malfunctioning brain with its contradictory, mutually exclusive wants and self-sabotaging urges.  

“I- I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he sobbed, because he had no other words anymore.  He was a mess, undeserving of Derek’s compassion, and the fact that he couldn’t even hold it together for one night was proof of that.

The door opened, apparently Derek was done waiting for permission, which was just as well.  Stiles wasn’t going to manage to answer the question any time soon.  Stiles lifted his head slightly and caught sight of Derek’s face.  The dom looked upset, and while he was probably actually just concerned, Stiles couldn't help but think that  _ oh god he's mad _ and push himself frantically back into the corner. 

Derek crouched in front of Stiles, near but not crowding him. “What happened? Are you- do you need a doctor? Are you hurt?” He sounded almost scared, which Stiles hated. Derek didn't deserve this. He shouldn't have to deal with this. Derek reached towards Stiles, and Stiles shrank back, cowering into the corner. He hated himself for it. This was Derek, he wouldn't hit him or hurt him, Stiles was sure, (as sure as he could be, ignoring the stupid voice in the back of his head that kept asking how he knew this wouldn't be the first time), but he was still fighting panic, and the instinct to pull away was too strong to overcome. The worst part of it was that he  _ wanted _ Derek’s touch. He wanted to be held. But he couldn't bring himself to move and go to him. 

Of course, Derek blinked in confusion for a second when Stiles evaded his touch. Thankfully he recovered quickly. “I'm not going to hurt you, Stiles,” he said softly. “You said it yourself, earlier, remember? You said you knew I would never hurt you.”  He reached out to Stiles again, slower this time, and Stiles managed not to cringe. Focusing on Derek’s voice helped. “It’s  okay,” Derek murmured to him as he wrapped his strong, warm hand around Stiles’ upper arm and pulled him gently out of the corner. “It's okay, it's just me, you're safe.”

Stiles gave no resistance as he was drawn from his hiding place. Derek shifted so he was sitting on the tile floor with his back against the wall, pulling Stiles with him until the sub was more or less in his lap, with Derek’s arms wrapped solidly around him. Despite losing the paltry comfort of his hiding place, being held felt immediately safer. Part of him felt sick, still, because he didn't know why Derek was being so kind to him and he couldn't stop wondering when it would end. But right now, it was an increasingly small part. Mostly, he just felt safe. 

“I'm s-sorry,” Stiles stammered miserably. His sobs were dying down to hiccups, but his voice was still shaky. “I-I'm so sor-sorry…”

“Shh, you don't need to apologize,” Derek soothed. “Put your head on my shoulder,” he ordered, and Stiles complied. His voice was gentle, but there was no mistaking it as an order. “Close your eyes. I want you to breathe with me. Match your breathing to mine. In… out.  There you go. Just do your best. Listen to my breathing, that's all you need to do.” 

Stiles did as he was told. His breath kept catching in his throat, but it didn't matter, because Derek was rubbing his back and occasionally murmuring encouragement, and he was finally able to slow his racing mind. At some point as his panic eased, Stiles realized that Derek was deliberately giving him simple, easily accomplished orders because it would make him feel like he was being good, obedient. Or maybe he was just trying to get Stiles to stop hyperventilating. Either way, it helped. As the adrenaline left his system, exhaustion set in, making his limbs feel dead. He didn't think he could get up if he tried. Sitting there, curled into Derek’s well-muscled chest… well, it wasn't like everything was magically better. Things were still terrible. But it was easier. Things were terrible, but it was okay. Derek held all the terribleness at bay. 

* * * * * * * * * *

Eventually, thank god, Stiles seemed to relax.  At least, his breathing evened out again and his shaking subsided.  Derek was still freaking out, though.  Internally.  Externally, he was completely calm, because that was what Stiles needed.  On the inside, Derek was making an ever growing list of questions that could no longer be put off.  After an episode like this, Derek was beginning to think that Stiles needed to see a doctor about all of this.

When Derek’s legs started to go numb from sitting on the hard floor with a grown man in his lap, he shifted a little, pulling back so he could look at Stiles.  “What do you think about going back to bed?  Or at least, getting up off the floor?”

Stiles pulled away a little farther and looked down at his lap without meeting Derek’s gaze.  “Okay,” he whispered.

Out of a worry that Stiles was under the impression that Derek was done comforting him, the dominant pulled Stiles in against his chest again and wrapped one arm around his waist, with the other sliding under Stiles’ bottom.  It made standing up slightly awkward, but Derek was strong enough to lift Stiles off the floor as he hid.  “Don’t worry, I’ve still got you,” he told the boy as he carried him back to the bedroom.

Derek set Stiles carefully on the bed, disentangling their arms, despite not really wanting to separate from the sub even a little bit.  But Stiles was still damp and cold and smelling of sweat and fear.  Derek went and retrieved one of his own t-shirts, then started to very gently peel Stiles’ clothes off.  Stiles watched him silently, limp and compliant in Derek’s hands.  Once Stiles was down to his boxers, Derek dressed him in the dry shirt.  It was oversized on Stiles’ skinny frame, but perfect for sleeping in.  Stiles actually showed him a tiny hint of a smile at that, just a slight stretch of his lips, and Derek returned it with a fuller one of his own.  He liked that having Stiles in his shirt made the boy smell like him, less like panic.  And from the way Stiles was rubbing his fingers on the soft fabric, he was pretty sure Stiles liked it too.  

“Do you need anything?” Derek asked, but of course Stiles just shook his head, and Derek didn’t want to press.  He climbed in bed too, arranging the pillows so they could lean against them, then pulling Stiles to himself and draping the covers over the both of them.  Stiles seemed antsy to be held again.  He shifted over next to Derek as soon as the dom was in the bed, and curled into him, head pillowed on Derek’s shoulder.  Derek let out a breath.  That was good, at least.  Stiles was willing to let himself be comforted now.  It was a start, right?

Derek  started to rub Stiles’ back gently with one hand.  “Are you tired?”

Stiles shrugged.  “Yes, sir, but… I don’t want to sleep.  I don’t think I could right now.”

Maybe that was good, Derek thought, because he wanted to talk about what had happened.  He was worried that by the next morning, Stiles would try to shrug it off as nothing.  “Do you think you can tell me what happened?”

Stiles turned his head into Derek’s shoulder and buried his face there.  For a minute, Derek didn’t think Stiles was going to answer.  When he did, it was quiet and resigned, almost shy.  “I, um… I had a.. a bad dream.  When I woke up, I was already panicking.  I’m sorry.  I tried not to wake you, sir.”

Derek’s arms tightened around him.  “Don’t apologize.  Next time you have a panic attack, I want you to wake me.  I want to know.”  The idea of Stiles sitting through it alone, hiding in the bathroom, made Derek want to break things.  

“Yes, sir,” Stiles mumbled, though he didn’t sound convinced.  Derek decided to let it go.  There was enough to worry about already.

“Does this happen a lot?” he asked instead.

Stiles shrugged.  “I dunno.  Not a  _ lot _ .  Sometimes”

Derek reminded himself that he needed to ask less open ended questions.  Stiles always had trouble answering those.  “How often does it happen?  If you had to put a number on it.  It doesn’t have to be exact.”

“Maybe.. Once or twice a month?” Stiles’ fingers kept tangling and disentangling in Derek’s shirt, over and over again, and Derek was tempted to take Stiles’ hands in his just to stop them from moving.  He didn’t, though.  He just kept rubbing his back, trying to be soothing.

He also didn’t add that in his opinion, having this kind of episode once or twice a month definitely qualified as a lot.

“Well,” Stiles qualified when Derek didn’t reply right away, “that’s just the ones at night.  Like this.  Sometimes I have panic attacks during the day, but… that’s different.  They aren’t just random.  I get them when something happens.  You know, a trigger.”

Derek nodded.  That seemed to make sense to him, though he wasn’t really knowledgeable on the subject.  What he really needed right now was advice, preferably from an expert.  “Have you ever talked to a doctor about this?”  

Stiles let out a humorless, raspy little laugh.  “I’m pretty sure everyone’s got better  things to do than dignify my little freak outs with the attention of an actual medical professional.”  He shrugged.  “And anyway.  Doctors are expensive.”

Derek was grateful for that Stiles’ face was still mostly snuggled into Derek’s shoulders, because it meant he couldn’t see how much Derek was frowning.  He didn’t like the way Stiles talked about himself.  At all.  “Don’t worry about the money.  I think you should see a doctor.  You don’t just have to suffer through things like this.  They can help you.”

Stiles didn’t answer, just curled a little tighter into Derek’s side.  The werewolf let out a soft sigh.  He knew he needed to be gentle here.  He wanted to just tell Stiles that he was going to see a doctor, and he knew Stiles would accept it if he did, but he was worried that Stiles would stop voicing his concerns and objections if Derek steamrolled over them.  “I know it makes you uncomfortable when I spend money on you,” Derek said softly.  “And I promise I won’t do anything extravagant.  But… you’re my sub, and I want to take care of you.”

Stiles nodded against Derek’s chest.  “I know, sir.  It’s okay.  I just…  I guess… I’m not sure it’s necessary.  To see a doctor about this.  It seems like a waste of everyone’s time.”  He had shifted so he was staring down at his lap, head leaning sideways against Derek’s chest, and had started to chew his bottom lip.

“What if they can help you?”  Derek was almost entirely certain that they could, but that wasn’t the point.  “It’s not a waste of time for me, not if the doctor can help you deal with everything.  All of this.  Because it’s not healthy, Stiles.  It’s clearly interfering with your life.”

Stiles cringed, turning into Derek’s chest again as though to hide there.  Derek tightened his arms around the boy protectively.  “It’s okay, I’m not criticizing you,” the dominant assured him.  “It’s not your fault.  But if a doctor can help, I want to try.”

There was a quiet sniffling, and then Stiles nodded.  “O-okay.  If you want, sir.  

Derek relaxed a little.  “Thank you.”  He tipped his chin down to kiss the top of Stiles’ head.  “I’ll call someone tomorrow.”  

They were quiet for a moment.  Then Derek spoke again.  “What were you dreaming about?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More specific warnings: Stiles has a panic attack, it's awful. It features a lot of self-deprecating and self-destructive thought patterns, and some inability to accept help. And lots of crying. But then cuddles. 
> 
> Say hi in the comments! <3


End file.
